The Best
by Insomniac By Choice
Summary: "I am the best there is but you may call me Samus Aran." When Space Pirates raid a far-flung military research base, the Galactic Federation again calls on bounty hunter Samus Aran and Galactic Policemen to liberate the base and destroy the dangerous experimental lifeforms there.
1. Hellish Day on a Cold Planet

_Who am I? I am the best there is. With both humility and confidence, I tell you that there is no one better at what it is I do. Should you need someone found, I will find him. Should you need someone injured, I will injure him. A man killed, house demolished, a planet destroyed—all of these things and more are well within my power. Simply point me in the right direction, and deposit the right number of credits in my account, and then what needs to be done will be._

_Who am I, you ask? Why, I am the best there is, but you may call me Samus Aran._

**-**Registered Bounty Hunter Samus Aran  
Official transcript of first exchange with Galactic Federation personnel

* * *

**AKNOR RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT MILITARY BASE**  
**GALACTIC FEDERATION PLANET: ER458**  
**CODENAME: PLANET TÜM**

"Well crap."

The words escaped Private Leeland Emmerich's mouth as soon as he heard the order, but he managed to hide them in a mutter and under a breath just enough that no one else in the mess hall really noticed, or at least they pretended not to. None of two hundred soldiers eating at the time even bothered to look up, preferring instead to continue poking sluggishly at their food as if they hadn't heard anything at all. He glared at the unsympathetic and disinterested faces that would actually get to finish _their_ meals. It was his shift to do the unloading, but he hadn't thought the ship would actually arrive yet, so he'd decided to do something productive with his time — like eating lunch. Nothing arrived when it was supposed to in the Federation Military, after all. "Hurry up and wait" was unofficial military policy, proving no matter how much time went by, some things just didn't change.

Until today, anyway.

"Private First Class Emmerich, please report to the loading station," the slightly feminine artificial voice repeated from the overhead speaker, this time subtly more forceful.

He shoveled some mashed potatoes into his mouth and gulped down his orange drink so quickly he almost choked. His profession was a universally tedious existence, interrupted only by brief interludes of extreme terror, a fact true even for one so far from any front. They were housing Metroids here, after all, deadliest creatures in the known galaxy.

"Private First Class Emmerich, please report to the loading station _immediately_."

It didn't look like he'd have time to finish his food after all. Oh well. Lee popped one more mint into his mouth then stood up and began walking away, leaving his tray and trash behind him. Those sitting around Lee gave him a few sour looks. Like him, they knew they'd be the ones who'd have to take care of clean-up for him. Lee winked, and in return a few gave him some very un-soldierly single finger salutes. Well, that was what they got for being apathetic to his plight.

He left the mess hall and began to head down the winding corridors that eventually led to the surface, hands in his pockets as he whistled a delightfully cheery little tune slightly off-key, the memory of his lost food fading quickly. He kept an easy pace, trying to stave off the inevitable task that lay before him. He wasn't in a hurry to get out there by any means.

Lee considered himself a generally easy-going guy, but he hated going outside. It was freezing. It was always freezing. Lee's home planet had been sunny and warm, a tropical paradise in every way, something which made the contrast of his current home-away-from-home all the more undesirable. ER458's unofficial name was "Tüm," and even though the proper pronunciation was "toom," invariably everyone eventually pronounced it as "tomb." An icy tomb. It was definitely fitting. Planet Tüm was several million kilometers farther from its sun than Lee thought it had any right to be, and the result was a world that was just a worthless iceball. But of course one assumes that the ice might melt from time to time. Oh no, no, no. It never rained, hailed, _or_ snowed (and hadn't in several thousands years, the geologists told them) but it never—_never_—went away. The ice just built up in layers, endless layers that made the climate seem even colder. Even the special suits they wore to make it possible to _survive_ on the surface couldn't get rid of the cold completely. Going outside without a suit was suicide, but at least you'd probably go numb pretty quickly, half a minute at most. With the suit on it always felt cold, if to an irritatingly tolerable, non-life threatening level. As he continued his ascent to the surface, he found himself already getting the shivers just thinking about the whole thing.

"Lee!" the other soldier on duty shouted back around the corner, discovering that Lee hadn't arrived and wasn't coming quite fast enough for his oh-so-enthusiastic tastes.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. It's not like the supply ship is going to leave if we don't hurry or anything," Lee mumbled back as he continued up toward docking bay at a slightly quicker pace. A little while later, he made it to his destination and started getting into his suit.

The powered suits they wore not only provided protection from the elements but also increased their strength enough that carrying a ton or more of the tremendously heavy cargo wasn't a problem at all. Well they were called "suits" but in reality, powered suits were much larger and bulkier than the name implied, giving off the impression of huge, mechanical gorillas. Luckily, they weren't necessary for _all_ movement here as they had been on some other worlds Lee had been assigned to earlier in his career. This planet was slightly more massive than the 1.0 gravity kept constant on the Federation starships, but it was easy enough to adapt to. After a few weeks of training, much less all of the time he'd been on Tüm, it was second nature. All things considered, it wasn't really that bad of a place to be stationed.

Then the outer doors opened, and Lee felt a cold wind hit him. Maybe the Federation would send some of the newer, better-insulated suits out to Aknor, but as far out in the East as they were, Lee wasn't going to hold his breath. He sure would appreciate having the more efficient heating system on the new models, though. His skin was one big goose bump.

Nothing native lived on planet Tüm, not even bacteria, and there were no other buildings on the planet besides the Federation research base. Something like 95 percent of that was underground, and for good reason. Lee couldn't imagine having to feel this cold all of the time. The single tower that rose out of the ground and provided access to the base was the only man-made structure that marred the natural "beauty" of planet Tüm. Well, that and the landing area, but it was usually covered by ice and therefore impossible to see. Often, the powerful winds sent drifts of ice everywhere, further limiting vision.

Fortunately, it wasn't too bad today. They could see with their own eyes, so they didn't have to rely on sensors, as was the norm. Electronic equipment was always a bit spotty on this planet anyway. The experts thought it had something to do with a magnetic pole irregularity, but everyone knew they were just guessing. No specialist in his right mind was going to come out of his way to study some far-flung planet just so he could discover the cause of a problem everyone already knew about and dealt with. But the result that anything an electronic device said couldn't be trusted as much as it could everywhere else in the Federation.

The supply ship landed and was closer to the actual landing area than usual. Maybe the pilot was getting better. The guy had certainly had enough practice considering how many opportunities he'd had over the years. Most of the time, the guy missed where he was supposed to be by at least 200 meters. Not that Lee could blame him. If just walking around was tough to judge, manually piloting had to be close to impossible.

Lee and his partner unloaded the cargo onto the large hover carrier anchored to the ground to keep it from blowing away. As Lee took the first load inside, he remembered the time he'd forgotten to secure the carrier—and all the fun he'd had tracking it down as it blew across the ancient lake bed. His commanding officer hadn't needed to punish him further.

A few minutes later Lee finished putting the last load onto the carrier and started to take it in when he saw the shape of another aircraft in the distance coming his way.

"Hey, Danny! We expecting two shipments today?" Lee asked the other unloader over their comms.

"Nah, just the one. Why'd ya ask?"

"I think we'd better put the base on alert," Lee said. "There's another ship coming, maybe more. Can't really tell; you know how it is. Better have 'em do a scan. They may be Federation but then again, they may not. Just to be safe, you'd better go warn everybody inside."

"What're you gonna do then?"

"Stay out here," Lee laughed. "If they _are_ Federation I want them pissed off at you for putting everyone on alert for no good reason and give me a promotion for welcoming them."

"And if they're _not_?" the man said.

"Then I'll give them a different kind of welcome," Lee replied. He tried to lighten the mood as much as he could. "Don't worry about it. This suit has enough weapons to hold off a small army until I can get me some help, if I need it. You're wasting time; just get out of here. I'm sure I'll see you in a few minutes."

The other man backed slowly toward the base entrance. "Alright, well, you take care of yourself. If things don't turn out okay, you just wait until we can get reinforcements up here, you hear?"

"Sure, sure."

The doors began to close, and Private Lee Emmerich watched as his fellow soldier went back down into the base. The heavy blast doors finally shut with a low boom, and Lee turned back toward the shapes coming at the base. No, those weren't Federation ships at all. Even from that distance, it was easy to tell what model they were. He knew what they were, and they weren't a small army by any means.

Space Pirates. Arguably the only real resistance to peace and unity in the galaxy and certainly the only organized group. They weren't a threat to the Central Planets anymore and only a mild threat in the far reaches of the North and South Quadrants, but they still had power and influence in the West Quadrant where their home planet Zebes resided. Or rather _had_ resided, according to the rumors that were coming in these days. Out in the boonies of the Federation, confirmation of anything was scarce. Still, Zebes was far from their only base of operations and no ship would even think of passing through Space Pirate territory without their permission. It was suicide. Every now and then, border raids flared up into small wars, but that was expected, and they were no real threat. Tüm was on the outer edge of the _East_ Quadrant, though. Space Pirates here in such a great number meant something very bad was going on. It meant the Federation either hadn't been able to stop them from coming through weeks' worth of "safe" territory or hadn't even known they were there. He couldn't decide which was worse.

Starships were still coming in to the point Lee lost count. The alarms had started going off inside the base, but it didn't appear that the Pirates really cared about stealth now. The Federation supply ship attempted to escape, but it wasn't armed and was shot down after getting just a few meters off the ground.

_Just when the pilot was getting the hang of it too_, Lee thought, but regretted it immediately.

He switched on his camera system so those inside could watch what he was seeing. The Space Pirates were occupied with unloading themselves and their equipment. There was no hurry nor was there any need to be. There wasn't a Federation warship within three weeks distance of Planet Tüm. All by himself out on the surface, Lee knew he'd be the first to die, but not the last. They hadn't designed the base to defend against this many attackers.

He wasn't going to try and get back inside; they wouldn't let him anyway. They would hold their position from behind that door and let the automatic defenses soften the attackers then they would blast the Pirates as they bottlenecked at the entrance. It was a sound plan but from what Lee was looking at it wouldn't matter.

The Space Pirates came at him then. Most looked like giant mantises while others looked like large, green humans with grasping forelegs instead of hands. They moved on two legs but the general impression was still insectival.

The Space Pirates bounded across the ground at amazing speeds, some on two legs, others dropping down on all fours, still others jumping far distances using their powerful hind legs. Lee had seen some flying creatures but they stayed in the sky farther back. And unlike him none of them seemed bothered by the cold at all. _Lucky bastards_, he grumbled forgetting the seriousness of the situation for the time being.

He thought back to his basic training, so long it seemed to him now. Color could be used to recognize the danger level and methods of attack each of them possessed, if only he could remember it. Heh, he wasn't even middle-aged and he was already losing his memory. Recently, he'd been briefed on some of the new breeds that had been identified, and he thought of that. Some of them could only use their claws to rip and tear. Some could shoot electricity from close range shorting out his suit. Some could spit an acid that would easily burn through his armor and then his body. And some were worse than that. He couldn't let them get close or he was done for, that much he knew.

Lee started firing his high velocity rounds at the lines charging at him. A number of them fell and got back up, a few fell and stayed down, and more shrugged off his shells like they were pinpricks. Ricochet bullets flew everywhere. Lee wouldn't have believed their carapace could be that strong if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. He sent a stream of flaming napalm around him in a small arc then back again in a wider arc. They had come into the range of the automatic guns and the .50 caliber weapons fired short five round bursts at the horde. Those caught between the flames were cut down almost immediately. The mantis creatures died in the dozens as they attempted to breach the flames but they could not. Apparently, they didn't like fire… He launched the two missiles on his back in to the swarm and two fairly large explosions followed, sending bodies and parts flying in the air. They all looked as if they were about to attempt another rush. He readied himself for what he assumed would be his last moments and began to send up a prayer to God.

Then suddenly, they all stopped, drew back, and Lee began to think his prayers had been answered.

Then a shadow appeared in the sky that blotted out the weak sun.

A great red beast soared in the air, its giant wings beating the air. An armor of scales and tough hide stretched over its powerful muscles, claws covered the brute's feet and hands, and a giant forked tongue emerged behind rows of cruelly spiked teeth. Its almost skeletal tail was as sharp and deadly as everything else about the monster. The beast was lean and sinewy as if everything not needed for killing had been stripped away by some malevolent creator. The beast landed not far from the entrance, its impact seeming to shake the very planet itself. The mantis creatures became silent; their chittering ceased.

Lee too was in awe, and his breath caught in his throat. He knew the name of this monster, this blight of the cosmos, and he whispered its name in fear.

"Ridley."

As if hearing the sound of its name the beast bared its teeth and let out a thunderous roar. The .50 caliber weapons began firing at it but the red beast crushed the automatic guns with his mighty claws easily. Then it turned a yellow eye in Lee's direction.

He fired his weapon and sprayed napalm but to no avail. The great maw closed over Private Leeland Emmerich, and with a scream and a crunch of bones, he was no more.

* * *

**TWO DAYS LATER**

The acting commander of Aknor base looked down into the atrium watching a stray Metroid hover through the lowest treetops. It moved slow; the weight of the planet kept it from going to the top of the protective glass. But the bio-food stomping around the atrium with it was slower still.

The captain, promoted to colonel by casualty and necessity, watched the eyeless, thick-skinned quadruped graze on some of the abundant green foliage that filled the atrium, using its snout and massive jaw. Whatever planet it had come from originally didn't lack in predators, but none of them could tear through the herbivore's thick hide. A herd animal, it was so large that any to try to eat it were likely to be crushed or trampled on. Federation scientists had since bred and engineered them to be larger, thicker, and more resilient yet.

Also eyeless, with no discernible sensory organs, nevertheless the Metroid knew exactly where to find its bio-food. Though twice a man in height and wider than tall, it resembled a transparent jellyfish but with fangs instead of tendrils and in the air rather than water. It was awful, monstrous and yet completing lacking reason, malice or empathy. There it floated around the bio-food, which stomped and kept its flank to Metroid but otherwise 800,000 years of evolutionary conditioning and five years of intelligent Federation design made for a remarkably patient victim.

The predator circled around once more, let out an almost cute chirp, and dove into the back of the lifeform that had been made solely to feed it.

The Metroid had a cluster of three organs inside that resembled nuclei and as the fangs began to dig into the bio-food's back, these organs pulsed and swelled, as if aroused. Aknor's commander had seen the Metroid was hungry, looking pale white instead of the usual green, but now it began to fill with color. A rush of purply fluids began to swirl inside the monster. The bio-food bellowed in unfamiliar pain and fell over but the Metroid remained latched until the herbivore's skin stretched tight and cracked.

The Metroid finally released its grasp and flew, heavy, leaden and almost drunk. It bumped into a tree trunk, then into a rock. It was almost comical, the equivalent of a bloated tick on a weeklong binge inside a dog's ear, but even now you could shoot a cannon at the thing and the membrane skin wouldn't burst. Less than five minutes later, the fluids inside it had stopped roiling and began to leak out from the same, solitary orifice they'd come in. Then in moments, the Metroid emptied itself of everything, all blood, bile and organ pieces falling with a wet slap into a pile on the ground. The Metroid seemed completely unaffected by the stronger gravity now and flung itself around every part of the atrium, its drunk turning manic. It practically glowed green and if hooked up to the proper equipment, could power a space platform on its own for a month. But the Federation still hadn't figured out how to build the proper equipment, and in their efforts to do so, they'd lured pirates here and gotten everyone killed.

The acting commander of Aknor base was supposed to be working on his plans for a counter-offensive to try to reach the surface before ammunition and able-bodied soldiers ran out completely. Of course, even if they did make it to the surface, it wouldn't matter. Federation aid was still too far away and their sensors told them Space Pirates continued to arrive. There was a faint hope the equipment was messing up but it didn't matter. They were all dead men. All that was left was to make sure their deaths counted for something.

A corporal turned lieutenant ran into the atrium viewing area and stood attention for a moment, but didn't wait to be acknowledged.

"Sir, the Pirates've occupied all floors 'cept basement XII. We're doin' our best but I reckon the Metroid lab and atrium'll be taken from us soon, sir. What should we do?"

"What do you think?" He sighed heavily. "Kill the scientists in a way as quick and painless as possible and destroy all the Metroids you can. Burn any hard copy files we have and put magnets to the computers, then destroy them. If we still have any samples of Metroid DNA on location, get rid of that as well. Don't leave anything intact that they might be able to use."

"But sir, the scientists?"

"The Space Pirates can't have them or what's inside their heads. You haven't seen what Pirates can do to a man have you? The researchers would thank you, given the choice. But even if _we_ survive, if those Pirates get that data, the Galactic Federation itself and everyone in it will be in peril. We _must not_ let them get that information. Hurry, before all is lost."

The man ran off, and the commander watched as the Metroid flew equal to his height. Fangs quivering with excitement, it began to tap against the glass directly in front of him, testing it.

* * *

_Note: This is a 'grimdark' post-Super Metroid space opera begun circa 2002, prior to Metroid: Fusion's release, and continued before being removed after concluding in 2006. Previously titled, "The Best There Is" and rated T, late chapters may argue for upgrading that. It's been updated slightly but retains most of its original plot and dialogue. Revisions may include continuity errors; please point them out where they're found._


	2. Gruesome Savior

**THE INTER-TERRESTRIAL SENATE**  
**GALACTIC FEDERATION CAPITAL WORLD**  
**PLANET NAME: AMMON-HÖTA**

_For those who have never visited the Galactic Federation's capital world, the full impact of the sight of Ammon-höta simply lies beyond description. It has buildings taller than mountains, streets wider than rivers, and cities that stretch from horizon to horizon to horizon again. However, once the Galactic Senate made Ammon-höta the capital and it truly began to grow, the government decided that at least half the land and water on the planet should be left untouched by any race's hands. The oceans are still filled with marine life, lakes so clear they appear made of glass, and the dense forests surround and are sometimes incorporated into the numerous metropolises. _

_The beautiful paradox of civilization and nature joined to one another represents the loftiest ideals and accomplishments the Federation has brought to the galaxy._

_To say that Ammon-höta is the Galactic Federation would be something of an overstatement, but fundamentally true. More than 20 billion citizens of all races and from across the known galaxy populate the planet. Even Zebesians can live there in peace._

_…_

_"Reformed Zebesians" species had escaped from the Space Pirate homeworld years ago as a faction on the wrong side of an unsuccessful coup. They had been forced to flee and colonized another world deep in Federation territory. Perhaps due to the terrestrial change, the Zebesians had quickly evolved (or, as some may consider it, de-evolved) into more humanoid creatures, losing their claws for three-fingered hands and increasing their life spans and intelligence, while decreasing the reproduction speed of their species in the process._

_ Though Zebesians were sometimes the target of bigotry by those who had battled or lost loved ones to Space Pirates, none were more loyal to the Galactic Federation and they had the highest percentage of all the races in government and military volunteers. _

_A Zebesian even sat on the Federation Supreme Council. _

Excerpts from _An Objective History of Humanity and the Galactic Federation_ by Arthur Lee

* * *

"We are in need of your services," began Rai-Dal, voice betraying his age much less than his hair and the sagging girth that rumbled his white robes.

All attention from the hundreds lining the walls of the voluminous chamber focused on a bounty hunter standing alone at the center of a stage immediately below the senior Senator and acknowledged Whip of the Federation.

"Of course," replied the hunter's cold, metallic voice.

Dressed head-to-toe in red and gold cybernetic armor, a large arm-mounted cannon covered the bounty hunter's right forearm, and two large disks bulged from his powered exoskeleton's shoulders. Behind a jet black visor the bounty hunter's face resided, though no one was known to have seen it. No one knew what race he was; in fact, a few said he wasn't even a he: "he" was an android.

The voice modulator that his suit used prevented computer identification and some said that proved he had he was an outlaw, others that the voice modulator was a translator and he was a race unknown to the Federation. He was called nothing more than an assassin with a letter of marque, but because all he ever did was kill Space Pirates and fugitives, no one really cared what he was. He was the best, known to make the impossible, possible, even easy. And so he'd been called again.

"We have a minor, routine problem we need someone to sort out for us," the Supreme Council's speaker said. "The Space Pirates have taken over Aknor base on Planet Tüm and-"

"That is in the East Quadrant; you did not detect them coming through Federation space at all." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Rai-Dal said. He unclenched his jaw. "It _is_ in the East Quadrant. And they have subsequently entrenched and reinforced their position. A single ship of theirs left the planet, we presume headed toward planet Zebes."

"Toward where planet Zebes _once was_," Samus said. The chamber filled with quiet murmurs at that.

"All other ships remain on-surface, but we must hurry," Rai-Dal said. "The Space Pirates are masters of genetics, as you know. We can assume that they have already begun work on what they captured on Tüm, meaning the Metroids you'll find there will be more dangerous than ever."

"Metroids..." The ellipses hung in the air until Samus ended it himself. "Aknor is a military base. The military never should have had anything to do with them."

Some small bit of emotion seemed to make its way through the voice modulator unfiltered, the effect equivalent to a shout.

"The last Metroid was destroyed by Mother Brain before I killed her. I eliminated all of the others on SR-388 along with their queen mother. Why would you be so stupid to clone more? I gave those samples to a civilian research station. You never should have become involved with them. You never should have even _thought_ about becoming involved with them. If the Space Pirates did not have them now and I did not know of the things they plan to do with them, I would say that you received exactly what you deserved."

"Your reward will be 10 million Federation credits," Rai-Dal said. "One would think your renowned avarice could make room for some forgiveness in return for that."

"Laughable. _Insulting. _Fifty million."

"Billions of people's lives are at stake and you're haggling!?" Rai-Dal exclaimed.

"Fifty billion then," the bounty hunter said, "one for every life in my hands. And that is just the Central Planets. I could go higher and the price would still be more than fair. If you do not like it, locate someone else who can do the job. It is of no concern to me."

"This Senate will not be victim to a _shakedown_ by a mechanized thug. Fifty billion!" Rai-Dal laughed and quiet snickers came from the otherwise anonymous elected representatives of the Grand Galactic Federation. "What could you even do with it?"

"I will buy a colony," Samus said. Senators began to laugh again, but it died as he went on. "Settle it as I see fit, with whom I see fit and not have to look at or acknowledge anyone I did not care to or have to come running to save you from your own messes."

"Preposterous!" Rai-Dal's eyes narrowed. "One billion and an unpopulated planetary or platform title to be named later."

"Look now who does the haggling. Thirty billion, with whatever unspent upon my demise transferred to a successor of my designation, and a title _of my choosing_ to be named later with the understanding the artificial platform is yet-unbuilt or the planet has less than 20,000 inhabitants. Otherwise," Samus bent slightly at the waist in a rigid bow, "I think I will take leave of your graces and get as far away from Ammon-höta before the pirates and their Metroids come here to reduce it to smolder and rock."

"You'll cost us more than the pirates. Fine, let's waste no more time," Rai-Dal said. "We're agreed on your 30 billion."

"For now put half in my account, and I will return to receive the other when I am finished and all of the Metroids on Tüm are dead."

"Very good. But, to protect our interests, twelve Galactic Policemen will accompany you."

"No. I work alone."

"This time you do not. It's too important. This is non-negotiable"

"I doubt that very much Senator. Fine. How much are they being paid?"

"Ten million credits each."

"I was to be paid on an equal scale as they? That is beyond insulting," Samus said. "Never mind. For every member of the Galactic Police that does not come back, put their credits in my account. _That_ is non-negotiable."

* * *

**DEEP SPACE**  
**EAST QUADRANT**  
**EN ROUTE TO PLANET TÜM**  
**EPSILON CLASS FEDERATION STARSHIP: THE STORM BREAKER**

The "Galactic Police" was a well-known misnomer, of the especially dry and bitter kind to those who knew them. Because of course they weren't police at all; they were executioners.

They were the Federation's clean-up men sent in to take care of matters that the military wouldn't — or couldn't — touch.

When space pirates were mere criminals, the Federation had needed someone to pursue these raiders to the ends of the galactic spiral, to hunt and to punish. Robbers that could run beyond all jurisdiction needed cops without the same limitations. But when the _Space Pirates_ arrived, based on Zebes but striking seemingly everywhere and wiping out not just whole ships but whole colony populations, a new police force had to form to match them.

So if Space Pirates raided an outlying colony, it was the Galactic Police who sought retribution. For every pair of claws that they brought back there was 5,000 Federation credit reward, no questions asked. It was a war-on-sight; no borders, no cease-fires. Many kept the heads of Zebesian Pirates as personal trophies of which they could use as bragging rights. Unlike bounty hunters, though, they were under the jurisdiction of the Federation and had to go where they were ordered.

Like bounty hunters, they had free reign so long as they killed only pirates. It was a small force in comparison to the general military but small without flab, elite without exception. Their powered suits were more powerful and advanced than standard issue and they could do much more with them. They were the most dangerous men the Federation had to offer. They were armored death.

And to Samus Aran, they were nothing more than the dirt on his boots.

At least that's what Kleth Strom thought the bounty hunter thought of them.

He was one of twelve sent with Samus Aran to Tüm to take care of the space pirates. Kleth was a large man, closer to seven feet tall than six, a frame that clearly displayed muscle, and gave off a sense of power. His red hair and beard were slowly beginning to gray but he didn't want to bother coloring it. Vanity was beneath a man in his line of work.

He had been in the Federation military for five years before the Galactic Police had noticed his remarkable skill and he had been allowed to apply for a position. In the thirteen years since then, he had never failed a mission and had 500 claws verified by the Federation on his record. He was slightly past his prime but the suits he wore kept getting better so he didn't feel the effects. At least until the night after a job. Some days he thanked God for the painkillers that made sleep possible and lessened excruciating pain in to mere agony.

That was all part of the job though. He had experience and in his trade that was hard to come by. Yeah it was true; he was past his prime, but he was nowhere near over the hill. Not yet. And that was why he had been handpicked by the Federation, along with eleven of his (human) comrades, to go on this mission.

Each member of the Galactic Police as well as the bounty hunter had his own personal ship that was docked onto the larger and faster - though also bulkier and less maneuverable - ship. The larger ship had a mess hall, gymnasium and was much less cramped than the individual ships that they were accustomed to. They spent most of their time away from their own ships unless they were sleeping, because there was no place for bunks on the ship, and only a few couches. Much of the Storm Breaker had been redesigned so that it could fulfill its current job: hauling smaller ships across the galaxy.

In the week that they had been traveling, the bounty hunter had never spoken a word of conversation to any of them. He rarely came out of his own ship and was never out of his suit. Any responses had generally been monosyllabic and he didn't even answer most of the time if it didn't deal with the mission. The rest of the Galactic Policemen chatted freely; they all traveled in the same circles and most had worked with one or all of the rest at one time or another. In their talking with each other, they had discovered that all of them had been paid 10 million Federation credits (far above any usual price and more money than most of them hoped to make in their lifetime) however someone had heard that Samus had been paid 30 million.

When one of them had confronted the bounty hunter at the mess hall, he had calmly replied (or perhaps it was merely due to the modulator) that no, that was incorrect: he was getting paid 30 _billion_ plus the sums of their rewards when they didn't return. Then the bounty hunter had turned and walked back to his ship and hadn't been heard from since.

Kleth couldn't imagine why the punk thought he was better than everyone else. Sure, Kleth had heard some stories about the man but he had been through his own share of dangerous situations. There was no way the guy was worth 30 billion credits. No one was. When they got to planet Tüm, Kleth would show that damned bounty hunter who deserved what. Yes, Samus would definitely get what was coming to him.

Two more weeks passed and the bounty hunter never said a word to anyone.

* * *

**PLANET TÜM**

Several hundred kilometers above the surface of the planet, the bounty hunter and all of the Galactic Policemen took off in their individual ships and headed toward the planet's surface, leaving the Storm Breaker in orbit. To an outside observer, their entry might have looked like thirteen falling stars.

It was a "stormy" day - the ice drifts were thicker than usual - and no one could see anything farther than a meter or two away using visual. Their sensors were going a little screwy but they had been briefed on that. Nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

The bounty hunter began to land and the rest followed. The Space Policemen checked their positions on their maps, thinking Samus must have made a mistake. They were going to have to go through 100 miles of Space Pirate-ground before they reached the entrance of the base from where they were.

They were on a tall ledge overlooking a vast open basin, perhaps an ancient lake. At least that what the topography maps said. They couldn't see a mountain if it was out there. Their onboard computers told them that the storm had moved into higher elevation and once they reached the "lake's" bottom they would be able to see a significant distance. As the Galactic Policemen exited their ships, Kleth moved over to the bounty hunter.

"What the hell are you doing, Aran?" Kleth said. "The base is no where near here."

"Neither are Space Pirates. If something goes wrong, I do not wish to try to use a vessel that has been damaged by Pirates. If the Federation had scorched this planet's surface as usual, we could have brought our ships down at the entrance. But as it is, there are several hundred Space Pirates out there and I will not leave my ship in their 'care.' "

"No one forced you to land here," Samus said. "If you like, get back in your ships and put your ships down closer. I highly doubt most of you will leave in them again."

"Yeah, whatever," Vincent Ado snorted. "Come on boys, let's leave the little bounty hunter here to walk to the base."

"I will not walk," Samus said. "I will _run_."

"Sorry, my mistake. 'Run' to the base then. When we finish taking care of business, you should meet us at the entrance as we're leaving," Vic Ado said. "We'll give you a ride back to your ship, don't worry."

All of the Policemen went back to their ships, lifted off, and were gone almost immediately. Samus looked up and watched them go. Then the bounty hunter stepped over the edge and began to fall…

* * *

"Hey Roger, you reading this?" Vic asked another Policeman over the direct comms. They were on a separate channel from their other ten comrades.

"Yeah, Vic. That's strange. According to this, that bounty hunter is halfway to the base's entrance right now," said Roger Lee, a young man with eyes that showed he had seen much hardship during his relatively short time of life.

He had only been a member of the Galactic Police for a few years but he had amassed a small fortune in claws and his exploits were well known in the West Quadrant. His past was shady at best but he was adept at the art of death so no one really asked questions about it. He was physically imposing for a human, well over six feet tall with lean, angular features and build. His hair was dark but his eyes were very light, a trait which seemed to make him very popular with women in his off time. Vic knew to hanging around Roger was a good way to pick up chicks, even if they were basically leftovers.

"That can't be right," Vic murmured.

"I know it can't. Must be due to the sensor malfunction. He's not even within range of our scans right about now. Why, he'd have to be going, what, 1,500 miles per hour?"

"Yeah but still… I guess you're right; that's pretty ridiculous isn't it? Oh well, I'll enjoy getting my part of that 30 billion when Samus doesn't even make it to the front gate. Thirty billion twelve ways is still a whole lot of money."

"I know. Hey, check your thermal, real quick. What does that thing look like to you?" Roger asked.

"Let me see. Well, it looks like." Vic stopped. "It looks like Samus Aran..."

They watched through the thermal camera as the bounty hunter ran right through a Space Pirate while it attempted to slash him. A haze of red-hot ooze hovered for a moment before it fell to the ground but Samus Aran was already over the horizon. He was constantly firing off laser blasts and all around him Space Pirates exploded in a shower of gore. Samus had passed the ships now and reached the entrance of the base. A giant lizard rose out of the ice in front of the bounty hunter along with dozens of pirates. Samus didn't even slow down. Faster than either of the Galactic Policemen could see, the bounty hunter launched himself through the air and fired an orb of energy into the colossal lizard's gaping mouth. He landed on the back of the reptile and began firing into its back. The creature screeched in pain and the bounty hunter jumped off its back. The lizard lunged at the bounty hunter but he deftly jumped back and fired a large missile point-blank into the lizard's forehead. Though the Galactic Policemen's equipment wasn't sensitive enough to hear it, the sound of its skull cracking was clearly audible to those near it. The creature shuddered once, then its eyes rolled back in its head and it died.

The two Galactic Policemen watched as the bounty hunter wiped out the rest of the Pirates in a matter of seconds without the slightest sign of strain.

"He… He's not a man… He can't be mortal…" whispered Vic, his breath catching in his lungs. "No race I've ever seen is capable of that, even in a suit like that one."

"I have heard legends of a race that could do this but… no it couldn't be. The Chozo are nothing more than myths now."

"What are you talking about?"

"The planet Zebes; it's not really he Space Pirates home planet. We call them Zebesians but it's not true. Long before they ever came to inhabit that planet, a race that was the scourge of the galaxy for a millennia came and conquered it from the planets natural species.

"They were a brutal, bloodthirsty race," Roger went on, "nomadic only because they couldn't go more than a generation or two without conquering something new. Then they took Zebes and a change happened. Some wished to change their ways and settle while others did not want to change at all. It's much like what happened to the Space Pirates only with opposite results. There was a war, the peaceful ones calling themselves the Chozo, the warring ones calling themselves the Torizo. In the end the Chozo won but they spared the Torizo. They locked the Torizo inside statues in a state of suspended animation and the Chozo themselves swore to never go to war again. That's why the Space Pirates were able to take Zebes. But the Chozo could have easily defended themselves; their technology and aptitude for battle was greater than all of the known races could even imagine. A handful would have been more than enough…"

"How do you know all of this?" Vic asked.

"My father is…was an archeologist and historian. He studied the planet Zebes, its races, and their histories extensively before his death. The Space Pirates welcomed him at first then decided he was a spy. He managed to get out a copy of his research before he was executed. The Space Pirates dumped his body off at Meridion Colony. I… It's not important now. The Chozo are all dead now; their pacifism finished them off a long time ago."

"Good thing we're not pacifists," Vic said.

"Well, except compared to Samus," Roger said with a chuckle, but he quickly stopped.

They didn't say anything after that for a very long time.


	3. Lambs to the Slaughter

**PLANET TÜM**  
**ENTRANCE TO AKNOR BASE**

Kleth Strom put his ship down near the base's entrance then stepped out cautiously. He had armed his weapons systems before his ship had even reached the ground and his adrenaline was rising to the occasion, readying him for whatever he was to meet. Strange. He had expected the Space Pirates to put up stiff resistance but he wasn't picking up any movement on his sensors. Then he switched to visuals.

There were bodies everywhere. Corpses of Zebesians were strewn all across his sight to the horizon. The ice was green, painted with the blood and internal organs of the Space Pirates and a giant reptile was lying limp on the ground. The bounty hunter was standing in front of the heavy gate, a work of gruesome art as much as the ground he was standing on. Pieces of those he had killed still clung to his armor. The rest of the Galactic Policemen exited their ships to find the same horrible scene made even worse by the fact that it had all been done by a single hand, still unscathed. The Policemen's suits stopped moving and they all surveyed the area over and over again in awe and fear.

"Samus!?" Kleth yelled, breaking the others of their trance as well. "How in the hell did you get here and do this?"

The bounty hunter ignored him, apparently still working on the gate, and it was Roger Lee that answered using their radio.

"He got here by running. That's easy enough to answer. _How_ he did all of this I can't even begin to understand much less explain. Kleth, don't go near that man, if he's a man at all. We are not needed here and the best thing we can do is just stay out of his way."

"I don't care who or what this Samus Aran is. I am being paid 10 million credits to do a job and I plan to actually go through with it. Besides, it's cold as a dead Lygian's tit out here and I want inside. This isn't like you at all, Roger. Now some bounty hunter in some shiny armor has you afraid to go near him? Grow some balls, man."

Kleth couldn't see Roger's face but by the way the Policeman's suit twitched slightly Kleth guessed he'd pushed the right buttons.

"OK," Roger said. "I'll go in with you, but let's try not to get ourselves killed."

Suddenly a massive explosion rocked all of the Galactic Policemen and even in their suits, they had trouble keeping their balance. They looked to Samus Aran and the gate he had been standing in front of had a hole in the middle of it big enough to fit a small starship through. Trace lines of energy traced from the end of the bounty hunter's cannon.

"Stay there or come in," Samus said without even glancing their way. "Either way it does not matter to me. But do not get in my way."

Then he was gone into the base.

* * *

The Galactic Policemen followed as fast as they could but they had nothing to do. Dead Zebesians were scattered all about, as were numerous other dangerous looking creatures that none of the Galactic Policemen had ever seen before. Well, had they still been in one piece they would have been dangerous. All the variations showed the Space Pirates still appeared to have a knack for biological engineering, but not enough to stop Samus.

Up ahead the Galactic Policemen could here explosions and the sound of an energy cannon being fired but they couldn't even get near enough to see it. Kleth was the designated point man and led the formation. They moved in a column; anything would have been impossible as the halls were designed especially narrow in the case that they had to be defended. That obviously hadn't stopped the invading Space Pirates though. Some of the walls and floors showed signs of damage that seemed it hadn't been done by the bounty hunter's rampage and Kleth made a note to himself that some enemies probably wouldn't be out in the open.

As they neared one of the labs, they ran into some meager resistance but they were all experienced and skilled so no one was even injured. The firefight was brief and they continued on until Vic Ado said his sensors had picked up something moving behind a wall. They all stopped and waited to check it out. In the section they were in there were no bodies so it seemed Samus hadn't come that way or the Space Pirates had managed to hide from him.

Kleth hated playing catch-up, even to someone as good as Samus Aran. When something became obsolete, it was tossed aside like trash almost immediately. That's just the way things were. It was possible Roger was right, Kleth admitted. After seeing what Samus had done to the Space Pirates inside and outside of the base he knew he was no match for the bounty hunter but he still couldn't believe that the guy was doing it all by himself. Planet-wide militias had been unable to stop Space Pirates yet this bounty hunter… Kleth was just stating the obvious. He was thinking too much about Samus and not enough about his mission.

"Is anyone else picking up that sound?" Kleth asked everyone over his radio.

"What sound," Vic answered.

"Like a tapping or something. Skittering maybe."

"No. Let me check my thermal. That's odd. It seems like there's some areas cooler than others. I can't really tell if they're moving because my sensors aren't programmed to concentrate on that but it could just be some pipes. It might be something though."

A mantis-like Zebesian suddenly fell through the ceiling and landed on top of Vic. The Policeman attempted to fire into his assailant but the creature moved to his back and out of reach. Its powerful claws tore through the Galactic Policeman's suit and then through his arm. It reared back as it prepared to separate Vic's head from the rest of his body. The remaining Galactic Policemen, who had up until that point been unable to get a clear shot, immediately fired on the Space Pirate which exploded in a mist of blood and shower of goo.

"Oh fuck. Holy shit it cut off my arm. Fucking shit it cut off my fucking arm," screamed Vic in agony as his torn limb lay on the ground in an ever growing pool of blood.

"Stop screaming and take your stims. The chemicals will stop the bleeding and the painkillers will keep you alert and conscious. One of your gun arms is still functional and so are your missiles. We need you right now," Kleth said. He checked his thermals again. It didn't make any sense. There had to be tons of Zebesians all around them but he wasn't picking up any warm bodies at all.

Warm bodies.

Kleth manually started lowering the minimum temperature on his scanners. He was so stupid. The Zebesians were nothing if they weren't adaptive. They must have developed some separate strain that had a subzero natural body temperature better suited to this planet. He finished his adjustments and began to scan. The walls were alive.

"Shit."

Dozens of Zebesians began to stream out of the walls and through the ceiling. The Galactic Policemen began to fire but many of their shells were doing nothing but ricocheting off their attacker's exoskeletons.

"Heat!" Kleth messaged the other Policemen, remembering a piece of intel the base had managed to get out during the invasion. "Heat works well against these bastards. Nape 'em!"

The Galactic Policemen sent streams of fiery death at the Zebesians. They backed up against one another or formed a ring of flames around themselves.

"This isn't going to hold them off for much longer, you know," Roger remarked, quite nonchalant for the situation.

"I know," answered Kleth, "Everyone, use all the grenades you've got. Missiles too, if you can get off a decent shot. Save the pulse beam until the end though. I don't think our suits have the power to use that more than five times and still allow us enough energy to get back outside. Eight before the suit loses complete power. Don't forget to turn on your dead man's switch if no one else is nearby. The important thing is that we're safe for now and have some time to think."

Just then, a large Zebesian dropped through the ceiling on top of one of them and began to rip a Galactic Policeman apart. The man fired his pulse cannon wildly a few times but he was dead within seconds. The ring of fire slowly died down and the men were rushed by their attackers. Grenades and missiles were fired to slow the onslaught but that was all it did. The floor opened up beneath another man and he fell through into a mass of Zebesians. His screams could just be heard above the din of battle before they were quickly silenced. Kleth pulled the survivors back as fast as possible into a room his map told him had titanium reinforced ceiling and walls. Six men made it into the room alive. None would make it out.

* * *

The space dragon moved quickly and silently through the halls of Aknor base towards his master. Ridley made almost no sound despite his great size, squeezing through each corridor like a wisp of smoke. He reached the Metroid Atrium and he bowed low, bringing his tail down and averting his sight from his master's face as he had been commanded. The pit where his right eye had been was a constant reminder of what failure to show the proper respect promised.

"What do you want, _worm_?"

Ridley suppressed a growl but his tail twitched in anger. The gash on his chest that still bled from time to time and made his lungs wheeze when he breathed heavily told him any more of a response would be a bad idea.

"My lord, the bounty hunter is coming and will be here within the hour. I am afraid the Metroids you released from the atrium are keeping Samus Aran preoccupied."

A space dragon prided himself on his intelligence; his nimble tongue could speak dozens of languages and make a native speaker's ear feel as though honey was dripping into it. He could speak Galactic Federation Standard as if he was one of its citizens and had been all of his life and he could speak Draconian flawlessly as all of his species could. Ridley could communicate with thousands of creatures from all over the galaxy. But he detested the one language his master chose to make him use.

"Rather slow. I am disappointed," the master said. "Is the Galactic Police unit dead yet?"

"Not yet, my lord, but dying. It is a matter of time now, that is all."

"I am disappointed yet _again_ but what else could I expect from a race of such trash?" The master's gauntlet brushed Ridley away. "Leave me now. You may go back to Zebes if you like. It really does not matter so long as I am not forced to listen to you butcher my language as only a pitiable worm such as yourself could. I cannot tell if I am listening to a sentient creature or some babbling Kreebo. Apologize for disgracing my people's language with your filthy tongue in such a way."

"I am sorry, my lord, to have offended your hearing. Forgive me my lord."

"You are forgiven, my dear worm, you are. Pay me the proper respect and get out of my sight. Now."

"Yes, my lord."

Ridley crawled on his belly up to his lord's feet and as he opened his mouth he had the impulse to crush his master's leg but thought of his chances of success and thought better. His tongue flicked out and he licked his lord's armored foot for a few moments until he could bear it no longer. His master had made a point of destroying his pride some time ago. The space dragon turned and exited the same way he had come, carefully keeping his eye lowered. Samus Aran would be here soon to do battle with his lord. Ridley did not know whether or not he felt sorry for the bounty hunter when the two would meet.

His empty socket felt a sudden twinge of pain.


	4. Beasts

Roger Lee struggled to his feet, drenched in blood, some of it his own. His suit was destroyed, nothing but a pile of ash now. A grave smirk flittered across his face briefly before it was suppressed.

_Yeah, but so are a few dozen Space Pirates. _

He hadn't been able to make in into the room with Kleth and the others so he had had to retreat by himself. Kleth and the rest were good men; they'd give a hell of a lot more than they got before they went down but they'd never be able to escape, not with that many Space Pirates outside and more arriving all the time. They were in their coffin but they'd chosen it well.

Roger's pulse beam had saved his life by giving him distance between him and his attackers but it had also drained all the power in his suit. The self-destruct power bomb in the suit had been his only hope after the Space Pirates had swarmed him like that. He had grabbed his rifle and slipped out but luck had saved his life, nothing else. It appeared the Lady was still watching over him. But it had really only meant the inevitable was procrastinating a bit, nothing more. As soon as he ran into even a small number of pirates, certainly when he ran out of ammo, he was a dead man.

A Zebesian poked its head out from around a corner and in a single, fluid motion Roger raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired a single shell into the unarmored base of its neck, severing the pirate's spinal cord. It gave off a short sound as if attempted to yell but then its body fell completely limp to the floor, hitting with a slight thud. Roger ran to the corner and quickly checked to see if the Zebesian was alone. He spotted no more and so he watched as the dying creature thrashed about, its muscles firing off randomly, without any control. When its movement stopped entirely and he didn't fear being cut open, and he hauled the carcass into a utility closet to hide it then sat down to think.

He cursed.

He was alone. All the Galactic Policemen were either dead or still surrounded and that bastard Samus Aran wasn't going to be any help at all. No Federation back-up had been sent. The mission was a failure unless Samus could do something about it but then apparently it had been that way from the start. The Galactic Policemen had been nothing but lambs sent in to the slaughter and everyone but them had known it.

He couldn't escape: he would probably die before he could reach his ship and that was assuming it was still intact. Whether killed by the cold or Zebesians it didn't really matter. Dead was dead. The best he could do was pick the place he'd like to die and take as many pirates with him as possible. No. That was heroic-sounding but it wasn't the way to think. There were still Metroids and even one left on the planet would be enough to draw Pirates or even other space raiders here to try to make use of. The atrium should still be holding most of the base's Metroids and if he could destroy it, that would at the very least set back any experiments the Space Pirates were doing there. He hadn't used any of his power bombs yet. How many did he have?

Three.

He knew he should have brought more but he hadn't really expected be alive that long if he had to get out of his suit. At least he'd brought the three; that was better than nothing. They damaged all living organisms and some weak structures within a relatively large radius except for the specific DNA and/or material it was programmed to ignore. Himself, his weapons and his clothing should have been programed in already. If it wasn't he wouldn't have long to worry after the first one detonated. Roger still didn't understand how it worked, only that it did. The sort of marvel that led one to think maybe the technology wasn't of Federation origin.

He mulled over the best route. There were Space Pirates everywhere. They would certainly spot him before he could get anywhere. Fighting would be useless. Why, he'd have to have some kind of disguise to even get _near_… He glanced back at the Space Pirate's corpse. No. It would never work… not to mention it would be smelly as hell. Still if he could sever the organs from the exoskeleton… Hiding in plain sight _might_ be successful and it was the best idea he had. He got out his knife and went to work, doing his best to remember whether or not Zebesians had a hive mind.

* * *

Roger walked down corridor after corridor on his way to the Metroid atrium, waiting for his nose to go numb so he could stop suppressing the urge to gag. He'd been right. The inside did smell horrible. Roger looked on the bright side. At least he had room to fit most of his equipment even if the rifle was jabbing into his leg with every step. Discomfort was preferable to the alternative.

He passed by some Space Pirates a handful of times but he never came to close to them and never lingered. There were far fewer than he had expected. In fact, the closer he got to his destination, the fewer guards he spotted.

It didn't make any sense, though. It was if there was no security whatsoever in this area. Intel had been known to be wrong but the Space Pirates weren't stupid. If there was a place that was already set up for Metroid testing then they would be using it and guarding it carefully probably with their most elite troops or at the very least have some kind of biologically modified super-creatures around. He hadn't even seen Metroid droppings anywhere to indicate they were loose in the part of the base. It was baffling.

_Not to mention anticlimactic._

He reached the upper deck of the atrium. It was a large, elliptical shaped room that was covered on the top by a glass alloy that was supposed to be one of the few materials that Metroids couldn't phase through. There was some of that material behind the walls and on the doors as well. The good thing was that it allowed people to view the tests going on inside from the second level. The downside was that it was relatively brittle compared to many other materials that they could have used.

As he looked on it now, Roger could see that downside clearly. Most of the glass was shattered and lying on the floor of the arena. A few pieces remained connected to the top but they were just jagged spears. There was blood, red _and_ green, splattered all over the walls of the upper deck. For some reason he was reminded of Christmas.

Roger looked down from his vantage point into the atrium itself. It was unrecognizable from the pictures he had seen in his briefings. Instead of lab equipment and titanium, he saw a jungle. Vines and foliage covered everything. Heat was pouring out of it and even through his makeshift disguise it was sweltering beyond the point of mere discomfort. Yet with all of this living material, there was not a single thing moving down there. Wait.

Roger thought he saw something. Well, two "somethings" standing about 100 meters from each other. One was Samus Aran standing in his red and gold armor as if he was a god from some mountaintop. Across from him was something else. It was more than twice as tall as Samus and dressed in black armor that was strikingly similar to the bounty hunter's. The way the armor covered the beast it showed that it was something more than simply a giant human. Its head looked like a bird…

"Samus Aran. You are finally here. I hope you make my time here _worthwhile_. It took me a good deal of time to travel here and get those weaklings to serve me. Now my indignities are multiplied as I must degrade myself by using Galactic Federation Standard to communicate. It is an experience I will not soon forget. I feel as if I am spewing defecation. I-"

"What you are is by far the whiniest creature I have _ever_ come across. I take it you are responsible for the destruction of this base and the unleashing of the Metroids? If that is the case then you are the only thing standing between me and 30 billion credits. Your plan is unsuccessful; all of the Metroids are destroyed. You are finished."

The armored beast made it sound almost like a laugh.

"Metroids? I care nothing of those glorified parasites," the beast said. "I only chose this base because I knew the Galactic Federation would be sure to send you. And now that you are here-"

Then it was moving too fast for Roger to keep up with. Suddenly it covered the distance between the two of them and was behind the bounty hunter. Samus turned around and caught a blow to the face, sending him flying across the atrium. He recovered in mid-air and shot a missile at the monster but it swatted the missile down as if the projectile was a gnat. As Samus crashed feet-first through a tree, his blaster charged up but before he could use it, the armored monster was in his face. Roger could not believe something so large could be so fast. He could barely catch the haze it left behind.

The beast grabbed Samus then kneed him in to chest, turning the bounty hunter's suit concave. The monster grabbed Samus by the arm and swung him into the vine-covered rubble, smashing what was left of two large pillars. Samus got up and moved so fast he was a blur as well but he was nowhere near as fast as the armored beast. Samus was knocked to the ground once again. Before the bounty hunter could rise, it was on top of him. The creature was a blur of motion and the only sound was of Samus's suit crunching and bending as blow after blow landed like sledgehammers.

Suddenly a huge explosion engulfed both of them and Roger could see nothing but smoke. Then the body of Samus Aran could be seen, wrapped in an aura of energy and spinning through the air like a saw blade.

The armored beast could vaguely be seen through the smoke and did nothing until the bounty hunter was right in front of it. Then, in what must have been fractions of a second, it raised it arm and a beam of multicolored energy shot from its outstretched hand. The beam struck its target and the bounty hunter faltered and the spin stopped. Aran hit the ground hard and didn't look like he was moving at all. The armored beast picked Samus up off the ground by the throat, holding him with one hand and put him against the wall several meters off the floor. The bounty hunter hung limply like a rag doll. Roger wondered if he was dead.

"So this is the mighty Samus Aran. The one who makes the impossible, possible, the scourge of the Space Pirates, protector of the galaxy and the puppet of the Galactic Federation. What are you now? Nothing more than a defeated, inferior being from an inferior species. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"You talk too much."

The bounty hunter's blaster suddenly erupted, sending an enormous beam of green light from it. The beam caught the beast in the abdomen and it dropped the bounty hunter to the ground. The beast clutched at its side in obvious agony then regained control. Its suit was damaged and sparks of electricity danced out from it.

"You re-routed all of your suit's energy into your blaster for one final prospect at victory. How quaint." It tried to laugh but coughed instead.

The creature grunted slightly as it moved over to the bounty hunter but it was in control. Roger knew that Samus didn't have a chance. He knew that bounty hunter was going to die and Roger smiled with satisfaction. Maybe now he'd get to feel how all of his friends had felt trapped in that godforsaken room, abandoned and helpless and doomed.

Then with Samus dead, Roger would certainly get to experience the same thing, too, sooner more likely than later. And if any of the Policemen _had_ managed to survive, any chance of rescuing them would be gone as well. Roger supposed he could always kill Samus later, or try to.

His hands searched for the power bombs at the end of the claws. He elevated his arm and they rolled back into his hands. All three of them.

Roger cursed.

They activated simultaneously. His exoskeleton disguise disintegrated off him immediately and the remaining glass shattered. The armored beast beneath him looked up and raised its hand to fire. Once again, Roger thought he was a dead man. Then he got lucky.

A chunk of metal was already falling from the ceiling towards the creature and just it fired, and the beam ripped a large gash into the floor. The armored beast made a sound like a curse but then more pieces began to come down.

Roger grabbed his rifle lying on the floor and ran to find cover. He ducked under a sturdy table and watched as the entire ceiling collapsed in an instant, most of it onto the Metroid atrium. Roger saw a cloud of dust rise through the broken glass dome and he crawled out from beneath the table, stood up, and looked over the edge. He coughed and couldn't see much but he thought he saw part of the bounty hunter sticking out from beneath the rubble. The armored beast was nowhere in sight. Roger looked for a way down. Some thick vines climbing the side looked strong enough to support him. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and began his descent.

_Who said rope climbing in basic training wasn't useful?_

About three fourths of the way down he let go and landed a bit harder than he had anticipated. He had forgotten about the damn gravity. Idiot. He limped over to Samus Aran on his sore knees and began to remove the debris on top of the bounty hunter. Somehow Samus had a lot less rubble on him than Roger would have anticipated. He had gotten almost all of the bounty hunter's upper body clear when an area of wreckage began to shift off to the side.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Roger began to dig even more furiously then suddenly the bounty hunter began to move. He kicked off the rubble and attempted to get up then groaned and sunk back down.

"Where am I?"

The voice modulator was apparently broken so Roger was hearing his real voice. But it didn't sound like he had expected it to. The sound was almost feminine. Was Samus Aran… gay?

"You're in the Metroid atrium. You just got the crap beat out of you by something, I don't know quite what it is yet, and if we don't get out of here now we'll both be dead."

"You are right."

He stood up slowly and began to walk even more slowly.

"I thought that thing said you used up all of your energy?"

"Reserve tanks. But with my suit the way it is, they continue to drain away. Where is the nearest power recharge room?"

"It's on the observation deck. You'll never make it there without help, you know."

"I do _not_ need you. All you will do is slow me down."

"What are you talking about? You probably can't even fire your blaster without losing the ability to move. You're not invincible damn it," Roger said. "The holes in your suit should prove that."

"Fine. But if you are going to assist me, start by assisting me to walk."

Roger let Samus put an arm over his shoulder and they both limped towards the nearest exit. They made it halfway to the there when the armored beast rose out of the ground, an angry titan ready to exact its vengeance on those who had dared defy it. Steam seemed to pour from out of the creature's mask and it hissed in fury. Roger knew they were dead. Samus knew it too even if he wouldn't admit it to himself. Then they got lucky.

An immense shadow appeared over them and as one, they looked up.

The great red dragon swooped down and caught up the armored beast slamming it into the wall with a roar.

As the two clashed, Roger and Samus fled as fast as they could move.

* * *

Ridley raked his claws across his former master's visor until the armored beast threw the Space Dragon off it and Ridley took to the air once again.

"You call that armor? I call it an oven!" Ridley roared. "You call me a worm, but I am a _dragon_ and today you are dinner, _my lord_."

Fire rained down onto the beast but it dodged the flames easily. The Space Dragon swooped down again, snapping its great jaws closed on where the armored beast had been only a moment before. The armored beast sent a beam of energy from both of its hands, striking Ridley in his back and through his wings and sending him careening into the ground, his thick hide charred and the smell of burned flesh filling the room.

The Space Dragon didn't even notice. He hissed and bared his teeth as the armored beast slowly circled around him. The armored beast was suddenly in front of the Space Dragon and it sent a missile directly into Ridley's face. He reeled back in pain but his skeletal tail lashed out again and again, hammering into the armored beast's already damaged suit. One slash cut deep and the tip of Ridley's tail was covered in blood. The armored beast gasped in pain but caught the Space Dragon's tail as the tail came close again and ripped the appendage from the dragon's body. Ridley roared in anguish and the armored beast began to grapple with the dragon, snapping his arms at the elbow as if they were made of twigs. It sent two more energy beams into the Space Dragon's legs until they were completely severed from the rest of his body then caught Ridley by his neck and with its free hand, the beast forced a thumb through Ridley's remaining eye.

"There. Now wriggle like the blind, helpless worm that you are for the rest of your days."

The armored beast dropped the dragon but Ridley lunged forward snapping at his unseen tormenter's face. The armored beast caught hold of his upper and lower jaw. Something that sounded like a chuckle began to emanate from the dragon's throat and if Ridley's anatomy had allowed him lips, he would have smiled.

* * *

By hopping from one energy node to the next Samus's suit was refilled with the power it was continually losing. They didn't run into any resistance at all. It was a slow process, but a steady one and they always kept moving. Eventually they made it to where the rest of the Galactic Policemen had been slaughtered. A mountain of corpses lay on top of the Galactic Policemen and there were no survivors but some of their suits were still workable.

Roger was able to salvage enough to survive the trip through the planet's surface and to Samus's ship, which came down to meet them. They reconnected with the Storm Breaker in high orbit a few minutes later and headed away from Planet Tüm immediately. It was a cold place and unsurprisingly, they felt numb.

* * *

Ridley's throat began to spew a strange bile instead of fire, splattering the armored beast that held him. It laughed.

"Look! Even your fire has gone out," it said.

But then a spark in the back of the space dragon's throat ignited the fluid, which continue to spew onto the beast's armor and already coated it, had already sunk into ever crease and open crack.

The armored beast disappeared in the flame and its suit began to melt all around it. Realizing this, it pulled Ridley's top jaw off, killing him, but flames continued to spew from the corpse and the beast dropped it.

The armored beast's already damaged powered suit was malfunctioning horribly. It struggled to move but its skin was stuck to its suit. It was trapped inside. It was frantic.

The armored beast tried to remove itself from its suit but parts of the liquid metal had cooled and its flesh was an amalgam with many parts of the armor. The armored beast used all of its effort and escaped its suit. That is to say most of the beast escaped the suit. It left a part of its outer skin and a good amount of blood within the suit and it limped and crawled its way toward the exit of the base in utter agony.

The wounded beast was faint from loss of blood and continued pain. It noticed that all of its Space Pirates and genetically modified sentries were no longer in the installation. Apparently the cursed Space Dragon had sent them all away before coming to his death. The beast was alone.

Time passed though the injured beast could not tell how much. It was blacking out from time to time only to awake in small pools of its own blood. All it knew was that every step it took and every inch it crawled, it came closer to salvation. Finally, it reached the exit and the icy winds of the surface hit the beast like plasma beam. It had forgotten how much its armor protected it from the elements. It looked up and saw three dark shapes it recognized standing over it.

"Antan, you are here! Thank the Great Destroyer, I am saved! Help me please!" the wounded beast pleaded in pain. The dark shape it addressed simply stood there.

"Kaitok, you weakling. You look like as pathetic as tatori caught out of its shell. I had thought that you could be trusted with one simple task but you could not even do that. We turned the Space Pirates over to you and you failed to take over and defend a single base from humans? You are a disgrace. I doubt you could have done the simple task of killing that pitiful slug Mother Brain had we not taken care it."

"No lord master you do not understand! The bounty hunter with Chozo blood was here and-"

The second of the shapes spoke up.

"Chozo blood? The pacifistic cowards would dilute even human blood. Do not even bring their names up again lest I vomit from disgust and rage."

"Let him continue, Vâyok," Antan said. "Now what about this bounty hunter?"

"Samus Aran has some technology similar to our own which can be dangerous if one is caught off guard."

"If one has half a brain and is emasculated, you mean."

"Be _silent_**,** Vâyok," Antan said.

The second fell quiet immediately without any discussion.

"Thank you master. The bounty hunter is no threat. I destroyed him easily but before I could finish him, another human came to his aid and detonated several large bombs, which caused one of the floors to collapse on top of me."

"Are you saying that a structural collapse did _this_ to you?" Antan questioned.

"No my lord, it was the Space Dragon Ridley who took advantage of my weakened condition and did this to me."

"A mere Würm? I trust he is dead, yes? Good. At least you did something correctly. Now what of the Galactic Federation? Do you have the data we told you to retrieve?"

"They have the illusion of power but stand on clay feet. They cannot even defeat Space Pirates. One thousand warriors would be more than enough to conquer this sector."

The shape named Antan appeared to be thinking.

"Our people have not had the opportunity to conquer so large a coalition of planets in a millennia. We may as well bring them all. Vâyok, you and Clychun go gather our brothers. I will speak with the elders."

"Antan, may I present an alternate plan?" the last shape named Clychun said after previously being silent.

"You may."

"I am from the same clutch as Kaitok. I feel the shame of his weakness fall on me even more than that of our great race. Allow me to redeem my bloodline. Let me go after this Samus Aran and finish the job my sibling started. Vâyok can easily relay the message on his own."

"Yes. That would be acceptable. You may track down Samus Aran."

They all turned and started to leave. Kaitok was bewildered.

"Wait my lord! Where are you going!?"

Antan looked at Clychun. The third shape nodded and turned and fired a beam of light from his hand into Kaitok's head. The once fearsome beast died and its body turned cold and froze and - with so many others - became a permanent fixture on the planet, never to rot or decay.


	5. Birth of the Raging Devil

**Deep Space  
En Route to Orbital Platform Zeta, North Quadrant  
Epsilon Class Starship: Storm Breaker**

For the first time since he'd left childhood, Roger Lee didn't know what he was going to do.

On the ultimately successful but doomed mission to Tum he had lost everything. His brothers in arms, his powered exoskeleton, his spaceship and with it, he'd lost his bed as well.

Of course _Samus Aran_ still got a bed in _his_ ship, the only one that they'd been able to bring back. Meanwhile Roger was sleeping _on the couch_.

He felt lost, and he didn't know much other than that they weren't going back to the Central Planets. The bounty hunter had changed the course of the ship and only briefly explained that he needed his own suit fixed because it wouldn't hold a charge. Despite that, Samus still hadn't gotten out of his suit even though it was obviously damaged, and Roger was beginning to wonder just what the bounty hunter was really hiding underneath that suit.

So they traveled in silence for several days after that. The bounty hunter had retreated to his ship most of the time and they rarely spoke. It was much like the trip _to_ Tüm with the exception that Roger didn't have anyone else to talk to.

He didn't like it. Every second of silence was just a reminder of the horrible events that had transpired at Aknor base, and his head had nothing to fill itself but memories. He thought of Kleth and poor Vic and the others. Dead. Dead while he had survived. Samus had left them all alone, that was true, but Roger had saved his own skin as well. He should have died with them, fighting with everything he had until he was out of ammunition like they did. He felt like a coward. He had never run from Space Pirates before but this time he had. Then Ridley, one of the Federation's worst enemies, had saved his life against that... he wasn't quite sure what it was that he had been saved from. He had an idea, but if he was right it was worse than a nightmare. He was useless and a coward and covered in the stink of both. Roger felt dirty and he knew that he could never wash it off completely, especially not when he had nothing to do but dwell on his failures.

So one day Roger decided to end the silence. He went to Samus's ship with the intention of breaking the ice and getting to know the reclusive Zebesian killer at least a little bit. He let himself in, surprised the bounty hunter had apparently either forgotten or not bothered to lock it - and saw the one thing he never expected: Samus Aran out of "his" suit.

No, Samus wasn't a mutant, an android or any other non-human. Samus Aran was a woman, and a beautiful woman at that.

And she had almost killed him.

Samus had been dressing broken ribs from the way she was bandaging herself, but when she saw that he had come in, she was in his face and holding him by his chin with his feet dangling before he could blink. A woman? Yes, but by no means an ordinary woman, even (especially?) out of her suit.

Her almost flawless blonde hair hung down in her face but her expression dispelled the stereotype of the ditzy tramp immediately. Her eyes were an almost emerald green but blazed so Roger would have sworn they were made of fire. He thought she was going to crush his jaw but even though her muscles were smooth as a marble sculpture, it didn't even appear that even a tendon was straining. That, even more than her reputation in the armor, was what made him think it wouldn't be productive to try to kick her in her bad ribs and try to scramble away.

In light of the shapely bandaging, Roger felt the slight urge to complement her on her nice rack but knew that if she was debating whether to kill him or not, that would probably not tip the scales in his favor. In the end, she eventually calmed down and simply told him to leave, something he was only too happy to do.

Roger watched his steps for the next couple of days, not wanting to get on her bad side again. He hadn't forgotten all the esoteric hand-to-hand combat skills he'd been taught as part of his training, but that woman could _literally_ snap him in half without breaking a sweat.

So if Samus was in the gymnasium training, Roger was in the kitchen fixing himself sandwich. If she was tinkering with her suit's weapons in the repair bay, he was surfing the North Quadrant Lattice on his "bed." Wherever that demoness was, he wasn't.

And then late one night cycle he got up and found her at the coffee table in the lounging room with a bottle full of Scotch and an empty glass. It didn't stay empty long. By the way she was drinking and the amount of Scotch still in the bottle she hadn't been there very long. He decided to try and end the tension. As Roger sat down across from her, she didn't even seem to acknowledge his existence. He cautiously attempted to initiate conversation.

"Can I buy you a round?"

She looked at him strangely for a second then threw her back and laughed. It was an awkward sound as if she was not used to making it.

"I have not heard that line in quite some time, and never directed at me before. Yet it works about as well as I expected it to. No, I will 'purchase' my own free beverages, thank you."

"You're welcome," Roger said. "I guess you've never heard that line before because you never leave your suit, do you? I imagine if you did you'd never have to pay for anything."

Her smile faded quickly.

"Yes, I suppose that is true."

He waited then went ahead and asked the obvious question.

"Why do you stay in your suit then?"

"Tell me, when you heard of the stories about Samus Aran, what was I to you? A resourceful bounty hunter? The Space Pirate dread, their bane and slaughterer? The person who made the impossible possible, yes? Surely one of these things crossed your mind, did they not?"

"Actually I first thought of you as an overrated prick."

"Ha. _Ironic_. Yet despite this I was merely a bounty hunter or killer never a _male_ bounty hunter or a _man_ skilled at killing. This was so up until a few days ago, was it not? However _a woman_ is a different matter entirely. That _a_ _woman_ could even think of being a bounty hunter is remarkable, never mind any other accomplishments. And that is all I would ever be: female." She tilted her glass up then closed her eyes a moment and sighed. She opened them again. "At best I would be a good bounty hunter with a 'hot body' and 'nice set of tits' though I expect most would not even bother with the 'good bounty hunter' part. Oh, can you imagine the pinups? The interactive computer-generated holograms? The body pillows?

"The truth is," Samus began, more weary than Roger assumed she intended to reveal, "I am the best there is. And _that_ is all anyone ever needs to know about me."

"So why are you out of your armor now?"

"Of the _billions_ racing to quicken your mum, _you_ were the fleetest prokaryote of your father's seed?" Samus said, arching an eyebrow. "What good would it do now that you know I am a woman? The suit is not comfortable, especially in its current state, and your prejudices will not disappear though I disappear into my suit."

Roger ignored the insult.

"OK, I can see that. I'm not a total idiot." He paused. "But it's going to be a long flight, you know."

"…Yes."

"…Don't you think we should get to know one another instead of just sitting around in silence?"

"No. There is no point. I am quite used to traveling alone." She saw the look on his face and rolled her eyes. "_Fine,_ if it makes you feel better go ahead. Tell me _all_ about yourself then."

Roger reached over and grabbed for the Scotch, however Samus shook her head slightly, firmly, her most polite way to say, _No, get your own damn bottle_. Roger thought back to his aching jaw and decided to listen to the body language. He stopped and then got up and went to the refrigerator. He grabbed a bottle of beer and sat back down across from the bounty hunter.

"I was born on the Federation Capital planet Ammon-höta twenty-four years ago. My father was one of the Galactic Federation's most renowned historians for years. He produced two kinds of works for every subject, one full of footnotes and primary documents, the other abridged and in plain language for anyone to read.

"Then around the time of my birth he published _An Objective History of Humanity and the Galactic Federation_. That was his real baby. Me, I was a product of a few good minutes and nine months of my mother's work. That thing was a result of _decades_. Basically it told of how the Galactic Federation had actually come into being through conquering the lesser planets and forcing truces on them and such. That went against the standard, Federation-promoted narrative of a peaceful confederation joining hands across the galaxy, but everything was documented, down to charnel house itemized-receipts to internal political memos from the time preserved out of vanity but uncovered by him and those working for him.

"Needless to say the Galactic Federation didn't want 'objectivity' that ran counter to their own propaganda, especially not one people might actually read. My father was basically forced out of the Central Planets and went to live in the South Quadrant, taking my mother, two brothers and me with him. He had saved up enough wealth for us to be able to buy our own land. It was a good plot and we had some robotic equipment to help us so we earned a little money on the side selling the surplus off to the markets while he was away."

"Where was he?" Samus asked.

"On to his next, even more ambitious project, of course. He wanted to study the history of Zebes and its races especially its present race: the Space Pirates. He spent the rest of his life splitting his time between that cursed planet and us. He thought he was going to write something really special, you know? The sort of thing to change gala-political dynamics.

"When I sixteen, we stopped hearing from him. When I was seventeen we got what was left of his body back after Mechanized Infantry recovered it from a container shipped to Meridion Colony. We cremated him. It was the only thing we really could do. Oh those Space Pirates, they're _thorough_. But then who would know that better than you?"

Roger swallowed hard and glanced at Samus. He had the urge to apologize for the jab, but suppressed it and went on.

"They apparently changed their minds about his research but he got a copy of it out in one of his last messages to us. We published the abridged version of it for him under the title _History of the Planet Zebes_ as he had intended. It didn't sell well. I don't think it was even suppressed. I don't think it had to be. People just didn't care. My oldest brother is still working on the academic version in the hopes posterity will recognize his work as it deserves. My other brother stayed to be with my mom.

"But I joined the Federation Military. A year later, I was picked for a probationary spot in the Galactic Police. Since then I've been protecting the western colonies, and I've killed a lot of Space Pirates. I keep thinking one day it will be enough, but…"

He saw Samus staring into the brown ripples of her glass, and he realized he'd lost her attention.

"So, anyway, what about you?" Roger said, trying to smile.

She didn't move or otherwise respond for about ten seconds then gulped the rest of her glass and poured herself another in a way intangibly portentous. Silence seemed to pervade the room except for the sound of clinking ice and pouring.

"I was born on colony 'Kal'on – Linud Lünder' twenty-six years ago, or something close to that. You probably have not even heard of that planet, have you? Few have. It is part of the barbarous western settlements. Agricultural, like your home, but the planet's surface is remarkably flat and dry. The water comes mostly from underground, aquifers and a few caverns with underground rivers. It took hard work to grow anything — we did not have robotic equipment, only mechanized — but it was possible. We were technically considered part of the Galactic Federation but we were basically ignored and that was what we wanted. We thought we were free. We were fools and nothing more than that. My family — father, mother and myself — 'hard-scrabbled' a living and got by with just enough, and not much more than that.

"When I was seven, my family along with two-thirds of the western hemisphere of the colony were wiped out by the Space Pirates. It was a small force; nothing more than your standard marauder class brigade but then it takes relatively little to wipe out any lot of undefended farmers, does it not? Father fought them desperately, Mother also. But Zebesians do not reward _pluck_ with mercy. I was close by. I saw most and heard everything." Samus looked at Roger. "Did you a person can scream just as loudly without a tongue as with it? I do not know why it surprised me so much at the time, but I remember not being able to understand how it was possible. I remember being shocked by it."

The bounty huntress had already finished her Scotch and poured herself another glass.

"In any case, eventually the Pirates grew _bored_, as is their want, and when they had gone I buried what was left of both but did not mark the graves. The fauna of K-2L are not known to be finicky in what they scavenge.

"It was hot and very dry those next few days, but I recall little else. All of our crops had been destroyed as well as our home. I remember expecting that I was going to die and accepting it without any fears or regret, perhaps because I did not know to expect any different.

"The last image I have there is a pack of dogs coming after me. The Space Pirates activities had kept them well fed over the past few days so I imagine that is what saved my life; they were not hungry to the point of death. They were still quite fast, their mouths so frothy... Eventually, I lost consciousness during the chase and the next moment I remember I was in a dark starship surrounded by these giant bird creatures. You probably know them as the Chozo, if you know of them at all. They had me in a stasis cell and I was in and out of consciousness for I do not know how long. My wounds healed quickly, or at least it seemed that way to me. One of their scholars had given me a blood transfusion, which saved my life."

She paused her glass once again empty and looked up to notice the questioning look on Roger's face. As she poured herself yet another glass she explained.

"Chozo blood is, in effect, type O of the universe. They can donate it to almost any creature and its body will accept the blood and even improve. However no one but another Chozo can give blood to a Chozo without almost instantaneous death to the latter. The transfusion had side effects that I discovered later. The Chozo blood stayed in my system and joined with my human blood. I will not say mutated because it merely bonded with what I already had. My immunities strengthened, and my physical strength and stamina nearly quadrupled, I estimate. Unfortunately, I get pains in my joints much like common arthritis. Unlike arthritis, there is no cure for this other than painkillers, which work well enough, all in all. Otherwise, I believe I am infertile, but why would a bounty hunter ever need to have children, anyway?

"The Chozo scholar who had given me the transfusion became, legally, a father to me as I had his blood in me. I was adopted into Chozo society. They taught me their language, their customs, and their history. I was shown the natural beauty and wonder of life. I admit, appreciation for _life_ came hard for me." She shook her head. "I could not accept many of the things they told me, not after so much. Yet I was very close, I think. Ah, _then_ came their ultimate hypocrisy, their best bitter joke: they also taught me the very things they had sworn themselves, as Chozo, never to do. I was trained to _take_ life as well as preserve it. I was shown that on _this_ species striking here was instant death while with the female of _that_ species an energy blast there disabled their nervous system and so on and so on.

"They taught me things practical for my destined trade, and in the beginning I despised it but grew quickly to enjoy what I understood so well. I am not sure whether they envied or despised _me_. Perhaps both. I was everything they wished they could be and everything they could never let themselves become. I am not sure whether I envied or despised them. Again the answer is likely both.

"When I was sixteen they gave me my powered suit created with their technology and told me that I should leave for the best of everyone. My second father was actually the one to tell me. It broke his heart. Or rather that is what I tell myself so that mine… I wandered about from planet to planet aimlessly, mostly in Dåi-ori territory. It was there that I was given a name from one of their ancient tongues: Samus Aran — the Raging Devil. Looking back I suppose I deserved it and I suppose coming from Dåi-ori, some could consider it a compliment. I do. Eventually I decided to become a bounty hunter under the Galactic Federation contracts to get some measure of revenge even though I realize in the end it is all for nothing. You have probably heard the rest of my life's story after that."

Her glass was once again empty but as she looked at the bottle it too was dry. Her tongue, loosened by the alcohol, continued to speak anyway.

"They called me 'Chosen,' you know. The One of Great Purpose, the One Long Foretold. Well, I have yet to see prophecy that was not self-serving and if there is a purpose to all of these things I cannot find it. I have sent hundreds if not thousands of creatures into the great abyss that is the grave. I have journeyed across hundreds of planets, seen — and caused — devastation and death beyond description, and as of yet I have not found any purpose. Perhaps there is and I just cannot see it from my small view. Perhaps everything happens for a reason. Perhaps there was some great _plan_ in the death of my father and mother but if there is, it is beyond me. As far as I can understand, the awful and horrendous happen everywhere to everyone. It is wholly random and chaotic and all one can do is react to what occurs — or act and cause things to occur. But no one truly causes things to happen, do they? Every action is merely a reaction of something else.

"We born and we die and then there is nothing. And all of this… _insanity_ in between, we are mad to pretend it is sane or that we are."

Samus was suddenly silent and for one instant Roger thought he saw her as she truly was yet he didn't think he could define what that was, even in his own mind. She was totally beyond him and he felt like a child trying to grasp a concept just out of reach. She was utterly beautiful in that moment and utterly tragic at the same time. Her once fiery emerald eyes looked at his own and almost seemed to be pleading with him to disagree, to prove her wrong about anything she had just said, but he could not and she knew he could not. Then the look was gone and the face of stone returned.

Soon after, Samus finally told him goodnight and went back to her ship. Roger attempted to fall asleep on the couch but found he could not.

He went to the computer terminal, inserted the disk and listened to his father's words.


	6. An Objective History of the Federation

**Deep Space**  
**En Route to Orbital Platform Zeta, North Quadrant**  
**Excerpt from **_An Objective History of Humanity and the Galactic Federation_  
**by Arthur Lee (abridged version)**

The Galactic Federation is easily the dominant organization in this region of the galaxy (though the name "galactic" is slightly misleading bearing in mind that Galactic Federation territory comprises less than 1/32 of the total area of our galaxy) and has been for several hundred years.

Encompassing hundreds of races and thousands of solar systems one can clearly see that it wields incredible power over an astonishingly vast area. Since its inception, it has kept a reasonable amount of peace in a sector that for thousands of years was almost constantly at strife if not between planets then upon them.

The official chronicle of the Federation states that in the year 2000 of the history of the cosmos, representatives from the many different planets in the galaxy established a congress called the Galactic Federation, and an age of unmatched prosperity began.

Unfortunately, peace has never yet been a product of altruism and more often arrives through bloodshed despite any desires to the contrary. Equally unfortunate is that this _true_ history has been suppressed by the Galactic Federation, and now most people believe what I know to be complete fantasy. It is a beautiful and lovely fantasy to believe in, but in the end, fantasies are nothing more than sugarcoated lies. I know that some would rather stay ignorant, but I hope that those who seek truth will find it here.

…

**Humans: Architects of the Galactic Federation**

_Note: Humanity is entwined so deeply in the Federation that one could almost say the history of humanity _is_ the history of the Galactic Federation. That, however, is not quite true and would be a disservice to the contributions many other races have made. Still the history of humanity contains much of the history, and especially the early history, of the Federation._

**Average height**

Male – 6'0"

Female – 5'4"

Average Weight

Male – 160 lbs

Female – 125 lbs

**Natural Skin Color**

From pale white (space platform stock) to light brown and dark black (terrestrial residents)

**Natural Eye Color**

Most commonly brown, also green and blue, mixtures of these

**Natural Hair **

Most commonly black and brown, also blonde, red, and mixtures of these. Small hairs all over body however thick hair normally concentrated on head, face, groin, and armpit.

**Physical Build**

"Standard"

As most humans know, our species was not born on planet Ammon-höta nor was it born on any of the Central Planets or outlying colonies. Rather humans come from a planet on the other side of our galaxy, which at one time was called "Earth." I have as of yet been unable to discover the exact location of the planet, partly because of the terms on which our ancestors left and partly because of its great displacement from us, though I have heard that the Galactic Federation is thinking of renaming one of the Central Planets and rewriting the history books to reflect this change. It seems that humans cannot even bear the shame of the lies they have themselves created. Forgive me if during this narrative I switch back and forth between referring to humans as "they" and "we." Sometimes I honestly do not know whether I wish to be included in our species.

For now most of us are taught as children that humans left Earth because we had used up all of our resources and sought a new home elsewhere. Included in the textbooks is a note that we have since then learned from our mistakes and now protect the environments of all our planets. Used as evidence of this is the treatment of Ammon-höta (our current capital planet), where the entire environment is protected by reserving at least one half of the planet as untouchable by industrial hands. Sadly, this is completely false, fabricated in every way imaginable. We did not use up the resources on our planet; we destroyed them.

Our ancestors lived in the days of atomic and thermonuclear weapons and they were the primary means of defense in that they were used only to keep other humans from attacking rather than actual offensive weapons. Eventually humans unified under a single government and colonized their sole moon, a nearby planet, many moons orbiting other planets in the solar system, as well as hundreds of asteroids. Ultimately, (and ironically) they had more resources than they could expend. It was arguably the golden age of humanity. It would not last.

After an unidentified "alien" race invaded, the Earthlings first used conventional weapons and forces to defend themselves. They were losing on every front so in desperation they turned to their ultimate weapons. In the end they destroyed their own holdings and failed to destroy their enemy. Their homes were left poisonous radioactive wastelands. So the remaining humans fled. They went to the stars taking only a small number of starships that could manage to escape and on them a few species that reminded them of home.

Humanity was damaged, its ego as well as its strength. They moved from solar system to solar system slowly rebuilding what they had lost. It is remarkable how fast they recovered in retrospect. Eventually they conquered their first sentient species: the Mehrites. From them, the humans learned that humanity was the dominant species in that area of the galaxy and thus began the Galactic Federation. Obviously, even the name "Galactic Federation" shows that from the beginning humanity had much bigger plans in mind than simply conquering one species and stopping. Rather than turning them into slaves, the humans made the Mehrites into "subjugated allies." In time, they were equipped with human weaponry and made part of the human military, which eventually became known as the Federation military. It was during this time that the Equal Species System or "ESS" was created. Simply put, after a certain period of good behavior, any conquered species became equal to humanity (and later to all of the other species in the Federation that were equal with humanity). The longer the peace continued, the more privileges that race was allowed such as being allowed in to the best restaurants and lodgings, receiving better technology, and getting their own representative councilman. The ESS also rewarded anyone who turned in rebels by shortening their own time to become a Federation citizen. Those turned in, caught in the act of rebellion, or resisting the status quo were dealt severely and in many cases executed for relatively small violations. Sentences assigned were usually up to the local praetor. Very few conquered races actually resisted for very long due to the advantages of cooperation and the extreme disadvantages of resistance.

However, that does not mean that this period of time was not exceedingly violent. Truth be told, I am hard pressed to find an era of humanity that was more brutal, though this could also be attributed to the scale of these wars compared to previous conflicts as well as the fact that the books on Earth's history are disjointed and conflicting at best (two books often speak about the very same events without every agreeing on anything but the name of the war - though even that is sometimes disagreed on).

In a span of two hundred years, over five billion people were killed on both sides of humanity/the Federation's many wars, though only 950,000,000 of the casualties were actually human. This is yet another time period that the Galactic Federation wishes to sweep under the rug of the past. As the winners, they have for the most part written the history of this era, and it is predictably very different from the truth. Entire planets were laid to waste, and at least one moon was completely destroyed. To most it is now known as the "Sihon Asteroid Cluster" and even now the planet that moon used to orbit has hellish showers of rock that prevent almost any kind of life from being possible. However, undeniably the Gehrites took the brunt of the Federation's wrath.

The Gehrites were a fiercely territorial species that had been in conflict with their relatively close neighbors the Mehrites for an amount of time that neither race actually knows. Indeed, in the histories of both races the war has been going on since the beginning of time (which I can only assume means that they have been at war so long that they have both forgotten the reason they actually began fighting). Regardless, the Gehrites put up especially stout resistance and paid the price for it. For the first time since their defeat in their home solar system, humans used thermonuclear weapons. Up until this point humans and their allies wanted to conquer planets, not destroy them. The radiation the thermonuclear weapons left behind would render any conquered planet useless. Officially, it was the Gehrites who first used thermonuclear weapons but I find this impossible to believe. Not only is this uncharacteristic of their species and culture, but they did not even have a thermonuclear stockpile before the war (unlike the Federation) and therefore the only place from where they could have purchased these weapons would have been from the people they were currently at war with. I admit that I have seen credible evidence that shows that the Gehrites used atomic weapons late in the war, but I am unable to explain this other than that they finally developed the capacity to create some of their own. I have found only four conclusive instances of Gehrite atomic and/or thermonuclear bombs being used against Federation forces compared to the 376 (minimum estimate) that were used against Gehrite forces.

This is yet another example of our unwillingness to face the bad sections of our history. I do not mean to insist that the Gehrites were pure of heart or hapless by any means. In the war, they did more than their share of despicable acts. But they have paid the price. At the time of this book, there are only forty-five living Gehrites. Due to the numerous birth defects that they are born with and the high rate of cancer that all share, I believe that they will be an extinct species within 150 years.

In many parts, on the fringes of the Galactic Federation, there is an intense hatred of humans (though in particular areas Mehrite hatred surpasses even that). Yet, humans are not simply the terrible devils of the universe, and I apologize if up to this point I have portrayed them as such. On most conquered planets, the quality of life was raised enormously, and the average lifespan on some planets has doubled since being incorporated into the Galactic Federation. They have shared knowledge of science and technology with all. Indeed peace does exist, and perhaps everyone in the Galactic Federation is better off for being conquered; that is not my place to decide. Most races would do the same thing had they the strength and ability to do it. The problem is that while the great accomplishments of improving life is listed numerous times, the slaughter and destruction that occurred as well is mentioned only briefly in Federation histories, if they are mentioned at all. Nothing can truly be called 'history' if it is without balance. If only one side is given then that is propaganda and nothing more.

…

**Mehrites: Humanity's Chief Allies**

**Average height**

Male – 6'5"

Female – 5'10"

**Average Weight **

Male – 135 lbs

Female – 115 lbs

**Natural Skin Color**

Light Blue to Teal

**Natural Eye Color **

Most commonly white, also gray and green

**Natural Hair **

Black. Hair very sparse and small, a line of long silky hairs running down the tricep to the elbow.

**Physical Build**

"Slender and tall"

They were the first members to join the Federation and therefore second behind only humans in status in the Galactic Federation. They had been engaging in seemingly neverending wars against the Gehrites throughout all of their recorded history however the two races were merely butting heads against one another. They were for all intents and purposes equal with one another and their wars were stalemates. Nevertheless, the Mehrites were no match for humans. As previously mentioned (and as we all know), Mehrites lost fairly quickly however they responded well to the ESS and used and adapted the human technology they were given almost flawlessly.

While official Federation history and even most public Federation sources point to Gehrite aggression sparking the conflict, internal communication from the time makes it clear that it was largely Mehrites who pushed for the new human-Mehrite alliance's war against the Gehrites. It often forgotten that our word to identify the Gehrites is actually the Mehrite's word for 'adversary.'

…

The Mehrite homeworld, Ammon-shönta, is one of the Central planets though it could actually be considered _the_ central planet because it is the center that the Galactic Federation stretched out from. It was at one time the capital of the Federation but it was decided that it would be best to move the capital to a neutral location to avoid the appearance of favoritism.

It was and is Galactic Federation policy to separate its military divisions by species however of all of the races in the Galactic Federation, humans and Mehrites get along the best. I suppose that this is due to the humanoid appearance of the Mehrites as well as their astounding anatomical similarities. Interspecies intercourse, though once a taboo between both races, is quite common now. It is still frowned upon by the majority of society and as of yet no offspring has ever been created from these couplings however as the massive amount of pornography on this subject shows, it hasn't been from lack of trying. Once it was theorized that the female Mehrite pheromones have a heightened effect on human males and vice versa however for the most part that has been disproven. My personal theory has little to do with science and more to do with my observations on human/Mehrite behavior. I believe that both races simply have members within their species with a taste for the exotic and do not think with the larger head most of the time. Nevertheless, to this day female Mehrites and humans are not allowed to work in government and military jobs with the male humans and Mehrites respectively.

Part of the problem in stopping Mehrite/human intercourse is that both species are immune to the other's venereal diseases and as stated above there is no risk of pregnancy. Safe sex at its finest. I find myself a bit cynical about the subject but in the event of any legislation being passed, the proponents would have no legs to stand on but morality and as we all know, that is one of the wobbliest legs anyone could stand on due to its obvious subjectivity.

Humans and Mehrites have also had the habit of aping one another's culture to the point that today they are now almost one and the same. Galactic Federation Standard came of a mixture of the dominant human dialect of Angle-ish and the Mehrite language, Minouri. From time to time words from the languages of conquered species have been incorporated into Galactic Federation Standard however the building blocks of it have not changed. Language is the prime illustration however fashion runs a very close second. For years, religious clothing has been the favorite garb of the opposite species. The colorful and tight fitting tribal robes of a Mehrite shaman are considered to be the preferred wear of most adolescent human males while the Mehrite shrine priestess's rhastam and jewelry are the preferred wear of adolescent females. Many of the older generation view the latter as exceedingly vulgar and not appropriate for public while the former is merely considered distasteful. These opinions are few and slowly dying out, as it has become the norm rather than the exception. Mehrite males and females alike have a fascination with the black suits and white collars of the human priests. Crosses adorn almost everything imaginable within the confines of popular culture and the random words of a lost language that fill many human holy books can be found on shirts and commercials to appear trendy. Though the clergy of both species see this as a mockery of religion, as always, popular culture is slowly winning the long battle of acceptance. The entertainment industry is such a hodge-podge of one another's cultures that all forms of literature and amusement are completely identical, no matter what source they come from. If not for our inability to procreate with one another, it is possible that neither species would exist in itself anymore.

Mehrites are unquestionably the ESS's crowning example of success.

…

**Dåi-ori: the Galactic Rebels **

**Average height**

Male – 6'7"

Female – 5'11"

**Average Weight **

Male – 195 lbs

Female – 145 lbs

**Natural Skin Color**

Tan to auburn

**Natural Eye Color **

Most commonly red or black, occasionally emerald

**Natural Hair **

Various shades of black, red, and brown. Long hair all over body, especially head, face, groin, forearms, calves, and a mane of hair running down the spine. Males are usually much hairier than females.

**Physical Build**

"Large and bulky" 

If the Mehrites are the crowning example of the success of the ESS then the Dåi-ori are its worst failure. The Federation was made up of a coalition of seventeen planetary systems by the time it turned to the Dåi-ori. The surface of the Dåi-ori home planet was almost 90 percent water therefore, they never unified under a single government even after they reached space. The free "land" was abundant and seemingly everywhere so each nation and tribe sought to claim as much of it as they could. The Dåi-ori spread out across their solar system quickly but all had mutual distrust for one another. Every asteroid doubled as a base and every orbiting platform was bristling with weapons. The colonized moons and planets were even worse. Settlements were designed specifically to be defended, and no matter what treaties existed, skirmishes were constant and no tribe or nation ever worked with another.

Even after the Federation attacked them, the Dåi-ori never joined together in defense against their conquerors. Despite this, it took the Federation almost fifty years to take all of the bases and outposts under Dåi-ori control. Even then it did not end. When conquered, the Dåi-ori were all considered the same people by their conquerors. As they began losing their distinct cultural identities, they finally worked together against their common enemy.

Rebellion broke out every few days on the various planets and settlements without warning. After an especially fierce incident which lasted for three months (killing almost 150,000 Federation peace keepers and over two million Dåi-ori in the process), the Dåi-ori were all expelled from their home planet and the most populous of their holdings in their solar system. Their monuments and buildings were destroyed until no trace of their existence remained behind them.

The "Dåi-ori Spora" as it has been nicknamed is the largest of any such forced migration in Federation history. Most ended up in the North Quadrant where they have attempted to regain or perhaps re-create their culture and history. Many have become very successful as bounty hunters or more often, bounty killers. As weaponsmiths, they are nearly unmatched. Over half of the improvements to military suits in the past forty-five years are the direct result of Dåi-ori designs and re-designs from loyalists. Yet fanatical Dåi-ori still cause problems within the Federation and terroristic attacks against governmental structures continue to occur, though the interval and magnitude of them have been declining steadily since the arrival of the Space Pirates onto the galactic stage.

Indeed, the only reason tension has eased between the Dåi-ori and the Federation is because tension between the Space Pirates and the Federation has increased. The Space Pirates' attacks on Dåi-ori colonies have soured almost any chance of an alliance against the Galactic Federation though some of the most radical Dåi-ori are still pushing for such a pact. Considering the difficult time that the Federation has had with each separately, one can only assume that the Federation would be at the very least hard pressed to defeat them united.

…

The Dåi-ori are considered a barbaric species and not considered "attractive" by human or Mehrite standards probably due to the overall more muscular appearance of Dåi-ori as well as the "unsightly" strip of fur that runs from the nape of their neck to the small of their back. The difference in appearance may explain some of the antipathy each have with one another though many other species with the Galactic Federation do not see one another as attractive so that damages that theory quite a bit. Undoubtedly there are many factors which contribute to these feelings. It certainly does not help that Mehrite males are capable of impregnating Dåi-ori females and during the war many Dåi-ori/Mehrite hybrids were conceived against the mothers' will. Many more are created still. The Mehrite politicians claim that their soldiers and bureaucrats are seduced. Evidence from the amount of sexual assault court proceedings early on in occupation argue this is unlikely, however.

There are some Dåi-ori females who are friendly toward the Federation but this number does not even come close to approaching the number of hybrids who have been born. Most sexual encounters are forced and except in extreme instances, not even prosecuted.

It is a cruel fate for these bastard offspring. The children are shunned by both species and usually only the mother will take care of it unless she too decides to abandon it whereupon the creature dies unmourned entirely.

It is suicide for Mehrites to travel alone in certain Dåi-ori sectors of the North Quadrant. Dåi-ori do not prosecute Mehrite murders because they say no species should have authority over another. Likewise, they do not prosecute hybrid murders as they consider them another species unto themselves. Most hybrids do not survive adolescence. Those that do are given wide berth.

…

**Zebesians: the Enemy's Enemy**

**Average height**

Male - unknown

Female – 6'8"

**Average Weight **

Male- unknown

Female – 145 lbs

**Natural Skin Color**

Varying shades of green, also with purple abdomen and inner thigh

**Natural Eye Color **

Entirely yellow

**Natural Hair **

None.

**Physical Build**

"Slender and very tall"

Sometimes referred to as Domesticated Zebesians and more often as "the good ones," the Zebesians that fled Zebes after a failed coup d'état of the Space Pirate organization are by far the most loyal subjects of the Galactic Federation, perhaps because they must be in order to stay alive. The fleeing Zebesians voluntarily became part of the Galactic Federation and in exchange for their pledge of support were given a planet which became their new homeworld. They responded well to the ESS. Zebesians are second behind only Mehrites in the time it took for them to gain equal species status.

They have gained some acceptance due in part to their rapid micro-evolution (a bi-product of mass reproduction) and loss of the infamous claws that have claimed the lives of so many. Their overall humanoid appearance grows with every passing generation, though if a Zebesian were to fight a human using only the weapons nature gave them, Zebesians would still win easily. However, Zebesians do not have any antipathy toward any other race but Space Pirates. Much was gained from the technology they brought with them as well as some of the insight they provided into the Space Pirate organization itself.

The length of "domesticated" Zebesian generations is short, on average about fifteen years. However, it is estimated that Space Pirate Zebesians have a generation that is less than half of that. In fifty years, even in twenty years, who knows how different the two will be?

…

**Galactic Federation Military**  
The Galactic Federation was primarily a military organization at its inception. Thus, most of the attention and resources gathered by the Federation was put into maintaining and improving its military. This treatment has since tapered off but the military is still an essential part of the Federation and its governmental budget. The Federation military currently employs over 800,000,000 people with 625,000,000 of them being "frontline" soldiers and the rest working in organization and management of resources (according to their own files). The bulk of the Federation's forces (45 percent) are in the West Quadrant protecting the outlying colonies and their trade routes; 25 percent are in the North Quadrant as peacekeeping and occupying brigades; and the remainder are spread out at military installations and outposts in the East and South Quadrants.

The military is divided into three branches: the Cosmic Navy (which has a sub-division for on-planet campaigns known as the Terrestrial Navy), the Mechanized Infantry, and the Mechanized Cavalry.

**Cosmic & Terrestrial Navy**  
Both Navies are responsible for transportation of troops in their respective areas, however their main function is to provide semi-mobile, heavy support for the Mechanized Infantry and Cavalry, damage the defenses of any target, and intercept all enemy vessels traveling through Federation space. Some within the Cosmic Navy believe the Mechanized branches to be outdated and useless because the Navy's firepower is relatively much more potent than the other branches.

But that can sometimes be too powerful, much like trying to swat at a gnat with a sledgehammer. At times, more precision is required to achieve the desired effect. Perhaps because of this, the Navy has focused more and more of its budget on lighter aircraft, which can be deployed from Gamma-class ships and larger. This may help balance the Navy a bit more but the majority of the work done in the Federation Military rests on the shoulders of the Mechanized Infantry and barring an extreme shift in policy, it looks as though it will remain this way for some time to come.

Ship size is classified using the alphabet of a long lost and forgotten language. Alpha-class ships have the value of "one" and are the largest ships in Navy and therefore the standard against which all others are judged. For example, it requires two Beta-class ships to equal the size of one Alpha-class ship therefore a Beta ship has a value of "two." Likewise three Gamma-class ships are required to equal the size of one Alpha-class ships and this trend continues all the way down to Omega and Sampi-class ships which are valued at "800" and "900" because they are 800 and 900 times as small as an Alpha-class ship, respectively.

**Mechanized Infantry**  
The Mechanized Infantry are swift, numerous, and above all exceedingly dangerous. They have the ability to move at high speeds over mixed terrain, can destroy with discretion, and are able to complete missions quickly and efficiently. They are workhorses of the military on whom the pressure of most problems falls. They are also the main guardsmen of outposts and military bases and once a threat manages to pass through space (usually the Space Pirates), they are the West Quadrant's last line of defense. Unfortunately, though there are many soldiers in the Mechanized Infantry, there are many more colonies that need to be protected.

The Mechanized Infantry is considered a branch in and of itself and no distinction is made between the function of one brigade and the next (as opposed to the two Navies). Unofficially, though all divisions are given letter/number series as identifiers, they are more commonly known by their nicknames. These nicknames are not merely hastily thrown together titles, as one might expect. Rather, they are descriptive labels of the specialties of the Infantrymen within that division. For example, any division that has the name "Star Marines" within it is especially suited to escorting Mechanized Cavalry and it is by no mere coincidence that they are usually given assignments protecting the Cavalry. Following this same example, divisions take another name to differentiate between themselves. Some take the names of animals or mythical creatures such as the "Chimeran Star Marines." Others take their additional name from the sector they are stationed in such as the "Egenoid Star Marines." Again, none of it is official at the present time, however I predict a shift in this direction in the very near future.

**Mechanized Cavalry**  
The Mechanized Cavalry is what one might call the military's compromise between firepower, mobility, and precision. This branch of the military is solely terrestrial and provides medium level siege and defense capabilities to support the Mechanized Infantry. Probably the most lethal, effective, and commonly used weapon in the Mechanized Cavalry is the Anastria Mobile Artillery Cannon, which can hit a target in excess of two hundred miles with an accuracy of one yard while moving in the opposite direction. It also has a two laser rifles for aerial defense and the men inside are armed as well. If they were still outfitted with the plastique in their molars as their policy used to be, one could quite literally say the vehicle's operators are armed to the teeth.

Though most of the heavy work is done by the Cosmic and Terrestrial Navy, the Mechanized Cavalry has a vehicle, which can also carry the task of direct assault. Its name is the Colossus Assault Tank. Nigh-impenetrable alloys protect the crew inside and every square inch that is not necessary for structural integrity or movement carries some type of weapon. It was invaluable in the Federation's campaigns, since its inception during the conflict against the Rêy-deishi to as recent as the Dåi-ori campaigns.

The Mechanized Cavalry is relatively small when compared to the other two branches however it can be the difference between success and failure in many conflicts and often has been.

**Galactic Police Force**  
The Galactic Police Force is everything the Mechanized Infantry is and more. Or perhaps I should say less. The Galactic Police are completely without any "fat" to trim away. Only the top five percent are even allowed to enter the training program and of that, only ten percent of the applicants will actually make the cut. The actual training is highly classified though one can certainly assume using the word "grueling" to describe the "preparation" would be sugarcoating things.

For those that survive the training there is a life of danger and hardship which goes beyond any other occupation in the Galactic Federation. They are given nearly impossible tasks to accomplish because to nearly anyone else they _would_ be impossible. However because the Space Police are such a small force they can afford to be outfitted with the cutting edge of armored suit technology. Pound for pound they are the most dangerous men the Galactic Federation has to offer and the most dangerous Space Police unit is without a doubt the Zebesian unit. They refuse to be assigned anywhere but the West Quadrant and many times launch offensive attacks against Space Pirate strongholds without any provocation. To this date, over fifty million Space Pirates and thirty five million Zebesian Galactic Policemen have been killed by one another. In contrast, the human Galactic Policemen have killed only twenty six million Space Pirates and lost ten million of their own. The hatred Zebesian Policemen have is difficult to match though there are many who try.

**Bounty Hunters**  
Bounty hunters are not officially part of the Galactic Federation however most premier bounty hunters get their assignments straight from the Federation's Treachery, Terrorism, & Combat (TT&C) lists (the one exception is Dåi-ori however I will explain in detail in a moment). They are almost always freelance and willing to work for just about anyone, however the Galactic Federation usually pays much better than private sources.

The skill of some bounty hunters equals, and in a few rare cases exceeds, that of Galactic Policemen. Many are in fact former military men who for some reason or another have decided to do things on their own rather than follow another's orders. Almost all races and breeds serve as bounty hunters (an exception to this rule are the friendly Zebesians who are so fiercely patriotic that not working directly for the Galactic Federation is likened to treason). Unlike the Galactic Policemen, however, their equipment is extremely non-uniform and the quality and weapons varies from one bounty hunter to the next.

Despite this, all are very lethal and none are more lethal than the Dåi-ori. The Dåi-ori bounty hunters take assignments that no other bounty hunters would take - not necessarily because they are more brave, but because the jobs pay far less than what they could get from the Federation. Loyalty is first and foremost and any assignment which might hurt their own people is never accepted. Because of the great skill of the weapon smiths in the North Quadrant as well as the lax enforcement of laws there, Dåi-ori suits and weapons are superior to many of the Galactic Police's own "latest and greatest" suit technology.

At the border of the North and West Quadrants many Dåi-ori do work alongside Federation military and police forces to protect against Space Pirates and though there is tension, as the saying used to go, everyone smells the same once they begin to rot. I have witnessed battles of ferocity and death beyond measure. I have stood shoulder to shoulder with Dåi-ori bounty hunters and Federation military personnel, forced to drop my recording equipment and pick up a rifle to save lives, including my own. I watched Zebesian Policemen charge across battlefields and get mowed down only to continue watching as the survivors pressed on, in the process losing every man in their squad to give the myriad of races behind them a brief respite. I have seen humans and Mehrites and Dåi-ori standing beside me fall to the ground dead while I alone have survived to recount these events. I have watched Jahziel risk their lives to bring back wounded Zebulum who were trapped and dying in the middle of a battle, ignoring their own wounds. There is no difference between friend and foe when one is facing death. Against the Space Pirates, no one stands alone and expects to live.

**Space Pirates**  
The Space Pirates are without a doubt the single greatest external threat to the Galactic Federation. They are as mysterious as they are deadly and much of what is "known" about them is pure speculation. Until the Zebesian defection, a live Space Pirate had never actually been studied in detail. However as dangerous as Zebesians are, Space Pirates have other creatures far more lethal.

The first Defecting Zebesians spoke of a creature that filled them with what can only be described only as total, unutterable fear. They call it Kraid, or sometimes simply "the Lord." According to them, however, he is merely dangerous to intruders of the Space Pirate stronghold and Zebesians who displease him. It is "the Master" who is the plague of everyone else, they say. His name is Ridley. I have spoken to the survivors of the Artax Fleet Disaster. Indeed, they are few and difficult to track down. The official Federation report of the incident states that a superior Space Pirate force ambushed the Artax Fleet. It is true. The fleet was destroyed by a superior force. A superior force of one.

The Space Dragon ripped thirty Upsilon-Class Starships to pieces in the course of a few hours. Eight Alpha-Class ships were lost; only one managed to crash land on a nearby planet. The impact killed nearly everyone aboard yet eighty-three percent of the survivors of the Artax Fleet come from this crash-landed ship. A few small ships were able to escape however the Space Dragon was impossibly swift and agile. Space debris still exists in the area of the disaster, the only sign left that the Artax fleet ever existed. Following the destruction of the Artax fleet, it marked a major shift in Federation policy. Ever since that time, the size of each standard fleet within the Cosmic Navy has been cut down to an eighth of its previous size.

According to the survivors, Ridley was never hit during the entire battle.

**The Quadrant System ****  
**The terms North, South, East, and West seem ill-suited for describing territory in a three-dimensional realm. Unlike the surface of planets, locations cannot be described by two-dimensional planes. And of course, in the grand scope of the galaxy, a magnetic center does not exist. Also, the Federation has five sections, not four. The fifth region is a sphere at the center of the Galactic Federation aptly named "the Central Planets." It is separate from all of the Quadrants and no part of it is included in them. What is not part of the Central Planets and still part of the Galactic federation is then divided into fourths, forming the four Quadrants.

With all of these things, it is quite obvious the Quadrants are not actually literal definitions of the regions within the Federation, rather they are representations. A Quadrant is a three-dimensional area of space marked on a graph with x, y, and z-axes. Planets are identified by two letters and then three numbers that relate to their three respective axes.

NF492 can be our example.

N – the North Quadrant.

F- one of the twenty-six zones that together form the particular Quadrant.

4- the position on the x-axis.

9- the position on the y-axis.

2- the position on the z-axis.

Numbers range from 1 to 999 however when the numbers are only single digits, as in our example, it is generally understood that they do not need commas to separate them. However, when there are multiple digits for an axis, commas are obviously required to avoid confusion. Therefore, SP32, 554, 7 is 32 on the x-axis, 554 on the y-axis, and 7 on the z-axis.

**Conclusion to the Matter**  
The Galactic Federation is quite diverse and tension exists almost everywhere. The Space Pirates are dangerous, this is true, and it is this danger that has held the Galactic Federation together for at least the past fifty years. The Space Pirates however do not have the resources to win a "war" against the Federation. Likewise, the Galactic Federation does not have the ability to directly attack and take the planet Zebes without risking losing hold of what it already has.

I once again apologize if for some reason I have seemed impartial. It is true. As all historians are, I am indeed biased. I can only hope that I have made clear where the facts end and the biases begin. I am well traveled and I feel as though my partiality where it exists is well founded and I know of what I speak when I say it.

If nothing else I have provided the other, darker side that the Federation wishes to bury and hide from light.


	7. Mongrels and Minions

**SEVEN WEEKS LATER****  
****NORTH QUADRANT**  
**ORBITAL PLATFORM ZETA**  
**DOCKING BAY 3**

"Remind me again why we're here?" Roger Lee grunted as he followed Samus Aran out of the ship carrying the bounty hunter's armor in a crate. It was lighter than he'd expected. But then, he'd expected it to weigh half a ton. She had apparently "misplaced" the hover carrier. He didn't believe it for a second. Her aloofness had disappeared, but in its place was a sort of sadistic patronizing. It had been a long trip.

"My suit is _damaged_," Samus explained sweetly, but as though speaking to a child. "I have done some repairs but this requires skill beyond a level even I possess. I know a weaponsmith who lives on this platform, the best I have met and the only one I feel confident to work on Chozo technology. At least the only one I can expect to be somewhat successful with it. If there is anyone who can get my suit back to its previous form, it is he."

"Why can't you just go get the Chozo to do it?"

"That is a rather sore subject, and you should know better than to ask about it." Samus frowned. "I do not know where they are. If they wished to find me, they would. It does not work in the other direction."

They continued to walk, in silence now, and Roger actually took time to notice his surroundings. He began to commit the word "Dåi-ori" to memory. Within the Galactic Police, they almost universally used the word "troll" to describe the race, and the nickname was not complimentary or received as such. As soon as they got away from the docks and onto the upper levels, the amount of untrustworthy races would thin out quickly, but you couldn't restrict anyone from the docks unless there was a full-fledged rebellion under way. Which was stupid. A Dåi-ori uprising was always a question of _when_ not_ if,_ and the Federation would be better off if the trolls would just be forced to settle somewhere else, the West, maybe, where they and the Pirates could kill each other to everyone else's benefit.

When he mentioned this to Samus, she didn't take it well.

"Counting only adult males, not women and infants, I have perhaps killed more Dåi-ori than even you, Policeman," she said. "They do not weep or beg or whine or apologize. They are beyond the reach of torture, and would do for pride what no amount of money could sway them to. They are stupid and arrogant, but _worthy_. And I can imagine worse outcomes than a successful troll uprising."

"I can imagine worse things than a troll mugging you and snapping your neck," Roger mumbled.

Faster than he could blink, Samus turned and swung the flat of her hand into his side. It was light – for her – but still took his breath away and he strove to stay upright without dropping the crate. He failed and collapsed on top of the box.

"Now now," she said, bending down and bringing her face up close to his, wearing a factitious expression of concern. "Is that any way to talk to the person who is about to buy you a shiny new present?"

"What are you talking about?" he gasped. He got his breath back and asked the question again, now sounding less surprised. "What are you talking about?"

"Regardless intent or perhaps _capacity_, you have saved my life. I am therefore," her nose crinkled, "_in your debt_ and as you lost your powered exoskeleton, I can repay at least some of that debt by purchasing a suit for you. Do not think yourself too special: the dragon saved my life as well. However, I am quite certain that I cannot repay his debt now. Hopefully our mutual enemy did not survive either… How Ridley and I found ourselves on the same side of this conflict, I still am trying sort out. Nevertheless, do not think that you are getting anything else, _freeloader_. Had I not cleared the way for you in the Aknor base, _you_ would be dead now as well."

"What kind of suit is it?" Roger asked. Samus turned and started to walk away. He got up to follow her.

"The best there is. Well, the best money can buy, one should say. The weaponsmith we are visiting contacted me a short time ago. He has a new prototype he is working on and wanted me to test it. He constantly tries to make an armored suit better than mine and so far has failed, but his disappointments would be the delight of all others. They are also much more _expensive_ than all others. We will see if this one is worth its price. Now _shut up_ and let us complete the remainder of our walk without incident, hmm?"

He did, and they did. Zeta Platform was one of the larger artificial colonies in the North Quadrant but wouldn't even be considered a proper suburb if it was in the Central Planets. Just like everything else, size was relative.

They moved out of the docking bay and into Üntan District. Bright lights. Fine food. A few trinket shops. A church. Street stand scams. Hotels. Hookers. Everything that should exist in the first area travelers would visit. Then they moved through Üntan district and kept going, and Roger wondered how good the weaponsmith could actually be if he was in the second level.

Zeta platform was at the nexus of several major trading routes, and more cosmopolitan than most of the surrounding colonies. Roger had counted at least fifteen different species before even getting out of the docking bay. In Dostan District it was much the same though, as it was in the North Quadrant, Dåi-ori were everywhere. Most buildings in Dostan were still pocketed with bulletholes and several hadn't been repaired since explosions had taken them half apart. Apparently Zeta had gotten more peaceful since he had been last been here. But of course the last time he'd been here, it had been to kill every troll he laid eyes on.

* * *

**DOSTAN DISTRICT**  
**DAKEN YA HOKEN (HOME OF THE MUTT)**

Daken the weaponsmith worked on a new handgun design he had been tinkering around with for the past month or so. So far he had been able to successfully shrink the rifle size down while maintaining the power, but it still wasn't enough. His "pulse-pistol" had to be directly connected to a stable energy force to work properly. If only he could get a suit with that much power to spare…

He laughed to himself. Samus Aran had a suit like that but _good luck_ finding another one. Or building it. That suit was as unique as the bounty hunter herself. And the fact that he knew which pronoun to use meant he was also privy to her "deep, dark secret," such as it was. Daken was still of the opinion that she worried too much. He certainly never hid what _he_ was but then, he thought to himself with another laugh, he didn't have much of a choice did he? But it was her choice and her life, not his. Besides, she paid beyond generously for services rendered. Any time she showed up at his establishment it was for a huge amount of work and therefore a huge sum of money.

He was better than any other weaponsmith in the Galactic Federation, and he knew it. And he knew better than to flaunt it, too. He wasn't capable of mass production but he could design and build the very best. Or rather _almost_ the very best. His new suit was a step above all his previous designs in every way. It was faster, sleeker, and more powerful, as well as capable of higher offensive and defensive output. He'd wanted Samus to come in and compare his new suit to hers but he knew that it was still a long way from even being in her league. Whoever and wherever the devil the Chozo were, they were good. Her suit was so well made it almost seemed organic, a second skin covering a first skin that was perhaps just as finely made.

Daken's laugh came as fast and easy as always, filling his shop with the noise. Had he been one of those perverts so inclined to another race, he imagined that Samus Aran would be quite attractive to him. His tongue had loosened quite a bit one time while he was at a bar and he had drunkenly mentioned the dimensions of his secret bounty hunter to a human peace-keeping officer. After getting to the hips, the man, even more drunk than Daken, had quite seriously threatened to beat the weaponsmith to death if he didn't reveal the identity of the woman and where to find her. Daken had managed to avoid the pummeling and more importantly, managed to avoid having to hurt the officer and face the officer's fellows afterward. The last thing he needed was to give the Federation Military a reason to be pissed off at him, even if all he'd done was defend himself from a drunk, horny man. Men of all species seemed to let their crotch do most of their thinking for them. He smiled. As if he was any different from the rest of the universe. As if he had any right to preach about it. He was the same way as everyone else but the females who would accept a man like him without compensation were a very limited number. At the end of the day, he usually just gave himself a hand.

Frowning, Daken pushed the thoughts he didn't wish to dwell on out of his mind and got back to tinkering. He'd taken the pulse pistol as far as it could go with the present technology he could find, and he had to accept that. Perhaps in another few years it might be able to be used effectively. Ah, but his other project actually appeared quite promising. The device still had a few power problems but with a little work and a little time that wrinkle could be ironed out. After all, can't _all _problems be wrinkled out with hard work and time?

Just then he heard a knock at his door.

"Hello? Is the owner home?" someone called out.

His ear twitched slightly towards the voice. Couldn't be, could it?

"I'll be right there," he answered.

He walked over to the door and opened it to see two humans, a man and a woman, standing side by side. The man was carrying a very large crate and appeared to be straining. Daken didn't recognize him at all, but the woman, oh, the woman was unforgettable.

"Samus Aran!" He shouted and gave her a hug. It wasn't reciprocated and he withdrew. "What are you doing here? I sent you a message a few months ago but I wasn't expecting you until the end of the year at the very earliest."

"You know how it is. Plans change. Things happen." She shrugged.

Daken cocked his head and looked at the crate a bit more closely, understanding.

"I'm sure they do." He clicked his tongue. "How bad is it?"

"You can see for yourself _as soon as we get inside_," Samus said. "Daken, you Zetan cur, are you going to invite us in, or must I go fetch your mother and have _her_ let us in."

"Oh no! Not that! Anything but that!" Daken waved his hands in a gesture of mock horror and anguish, falling to his knees. "Your threats have worked. Come in, come in you devils, what's keeping you?"

Samus smiled and immediately walked inside. The man that was with her stayed where he was with a strange expression on his face.

"Is there a problem, my friend?" Daken said, returning to his feet.

"Roger. And forgive me but my xenolingualism isn't that great so correct me if I'm wrong: doesn't 'Daken' mean mongrel in Dåi-ori?" he asked, hesitating.

The weaponsmith laughed to try to dispel the tension.

"Actually I prefer 'mutt.' It's not my birth name but I think it's what everyone has called me since I was born so it might as well be. And does it not describe me aptly? After all, there are few creatures with blood as muddied as mine. Besides it rhymes with 'home' and gives this little shop its oh-so catchy title."

Roger still seemed uncertain, but came in and sat down the crate on a large table covered with various weapons and suit parts.

"I don't mean to be rude it's just… I've never seen a hybrid as old as you in Dåi-ori territory. I didn't think it was possible, especially in the line of work you're in."

"What, you don't think my _charming_ personality can win over everyone I meet?" Daken smiled broadly, pointing at his mouth. He let the smile drop, but kept the echo of it on his face, as usual. "I don't deny growing up was difficult, but it is my very line of work that has kept me alive as long as it has. If someone around here were to try and shoot me dead they'd probably be using one of my guns or at the very least one of my designs. Imagine how awkward _that_ would be. Hey, I do good work, and I don't cause trouble. I do my best not to give anyone any particular reason not to like me, and I get by. _Speaking of which_, while you listen to drafts of my autobiography, that bounty hunter is getting restless and might be considering not letting me get any older."

Both shared a laugh at that, but Samus didn't join them in it and they quickly stopped.

Daken coughed. "OK, let's see what we're dealing with, shall we?"

Daken put a twelve digit code into the crate's security mechanism and laughed with delight as it opened. He glanced back and saw a stunned expression on the bounty hunter's face.

"Ah, Samus, it appears you've become too predictable. I got it on my first try this time."

"Or perhaps you used the electronic lock-pick you have hidden in your hand," a recovered Samus answered smoothly. Daken laughed again.

"I can't fool you can I, Aran? I suppose I'll just be forced to stick with my ace in hole from now on if I want to pester you."

"And what might that be?" Samus said, amused.

"A certain nickname inscribed on the inside of your suit. A certain _pet_ nickname." Daken smiled. "Teaching myself Chozo script was well worth it, it appears."

"How clever of you. You would not be so stupid as to speak it aloud, then," Samus said. The mirth was gone from her voice.

"That is _debatable_, but I should be getting back to what I'm being paid for regardless."

Daken picked the suit up out of the crate and set it on the ground. He was amazed at how it was able to "collapse" and take up such a small area while still remaining structurally intact. Yet another amazing facet of this marvelous device. Unfortunately, that marvelous device was horribly damaged.

"What _in_ the devil happened to you, woman? The fuel cells are almost completely shot, and that 'almost' only exists because of some meager repairs you appear to have done."

Samus gave a voice command in Chozoan and it maximized back to its original form. Daken was even less pleased at the sight he saw as he inspected it.

"This is very bad," Daken said, circling around the suit, feeling it. "Considering the toughness of this material, I may not be able to completely return the suit to its previous shape. If you wanted to replace portions of it with another material on the other hand…"

He saw Samus shake her head.

"I didn't think so. I can't blame you, but it definitely makes my job a hell of a lot harder. On the bright side, it appears your weapon arm is still in working order. Good. Last time I thought I'd never get that working right again. What _is_ the purpose of that damn grappler beam of yours, anyway? You have the Space Jump upgrade and can practically float, after all. Well, maybe not anymore. Ugh, the condition of circuitry in the chest is abysmal. Listen, this is just my first walkthrough and I've already found enough problems here to keep me busy for a week. I don't know if I can get everything fixed but I will try my best."

Samus smiled at him warmly.

"I know you will and I also know that you are going to overestimate the time required so it will seem more impressive when you finish ahead of schedule. If you cannot fix this, then no one can. If such a person existed, do you not think I would be visiting him rather than you?"

"I do know it. And you know me too well. Still this will actually take a lot of work and even more time. Let's talk compensation."

"How much would you like?" Samus asked. Her face became entirely impassive and impossible to gauge a reaction. Damn it.

Daken mulled it over and decided to shoot high, knowing he'd probably have to haggle, perhaps for a few hours. She was extremely costly for someone else to hire but just as cheap when she was the one paying. He gambled that she had recently pulled in a large bounty.

"Three million."

"Deal," Samus answered immediately.

Daken was dumbfounded. He was getting paid double what he had expected. Apparently his confusion showed on his face because Samus laughed.

"I am exceptionally rich at present, and still only half paid. But more to the point, that should actually be a fair price considering all that you have to do. You will still come out ahead but you are not 'robbing' me as I know you thought you were. My associate and I will return throughout the week to see your progress and what assistance you may require. Now come Fido, we must find a place to stay for a while."

Roger gave a half-hearted "woof" and followed behind Samus with slumping shoulders and dragging feet. Daken was no human expert but there appeared to be something going on between those two. On the other hand, he _was_ no expert on human behavior so it could easily be nothing. His head jerked up and he stopped what he was doing. Something wasn't quite right…

Bah! They had forgotten to check out his new suit. He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye and then laughed. _Apparently the two of them had more important things on their mind_, he thought to himself, raising a mental eyebrow in the process.


	8. Toys in the Basement

**ORBITAL PLATFORM ZETA**  
**DOSTAN DISTRICT**  
**1053 DAY CYCLE **

Roger and Samus walked a long time, putting block after block behind them and between them and the weaponsmith. Roger couldn't understand why they kept walking, going further from remnants of respectability to the putrefaction of it.

"We will stop here," Samus said abruptly as they stood in front of a worn down residential building. "The owner of this place owes me several favors. Go in and ask for rooms 6F 23 and 7F 23. When he asks who the rooms are for just say, 'This is for the night of mooring.' He will not refuse you. If someone is occupying those rooms, he will evict them, and then you will take the rooms. You will then use the room on the sixth floor and lock the seventh floor room."

"What about money? I don't have any on me."

"Nor will you need it or I would have told you so. Here." She tossed him a few credits. "Buy something if you are hungry or something. I will not be joining you for some time. I must attend to some business which I had previously neglected."

"What the hell?" Roger said. "Where are you going?"

She turned to him. His eyes met hers for only a few moments then turned away.

"That is of no concern to you," she said. "After you get the rooms for us, you may go wherever you like. Just keep a low profile for now, whatever you do. Again, _your_ business is of no concern to me. I suggest you take the same philosophy regarding me."

Samus waved him off, walking away.

Roger watched as she continued walking toward Trintan District, the third and lowest level on Zeta. What the hell? That was practically a penal colony. What could she possibly have to do _there_?

He threw his hands up in the air in capitulation. Oh, what did he care where she went? She could definitely take care of herself.

* * *

**ORBITAL PLATFORM ZETA **  
**TRINTAN DISTRICT **  
**TSUN YA HU NAGANSK (BAR OF THE BLACK WALL)**  
**0856 NIGHT CYCLE**

The thick smoke of Dåi-ori cigars hung in the air of the Tsun ya hu Nagansklike poison, a black cloud lying in wait to devour any hapless victim that might wander in, never to be seen or heard from again.

But the smoke wasn't actually very dangerous to those who were used to it and only deadly after forty years or so of constant inhalation. That didn't mean the smell was pleasant, though. Humans hated the stench, and Mehrites even more so. For both, having to breathe it for more than a few minutes made them nauseated. In the case of the Mehrites, they would sometimes faint dead away. Federation councilmen in the North Quadrant had lobbied for years to ban the cigars, however, as the Dåi-ori pointed out, they only smoked within _their_ sectors inside _their_ bars. Why should _they_ be forced to change when there were plenty of much nicer bars and restaurants just a few districts over where Dåi-ori _and_ their smoke weren't allowed. Those with "delicate senses" had plenty of options to choose from and usually did.

In truth, the Dåi-ori themselves didn't particularly care for the smell of their own cigars, either, but it was also hard to find an adult that didn't smoke. Dåi-ori sectors were sometimes referred to as "dark districts" because of the ever-present shadowy fog that did a remarkably good job of keeping unwanted eyes and ears out of places the Dåi-ori couldn't legally ban anyone from.

Tonight that black cloud filling the Nagansk bar poured out the door and into the street, but it had failed its purpose. A room usually alive with the hushed whispers of dissatisfaction and upheaval sat strangely silent and still. Tonight a human was in the bar. A human _woman_. Though she was relatively small compared to the Dåi-ori surrounding her, all noticed something about her that didn't seem quite right, something foreboding. She appeared unarmed, but her neck and shoulders were coiled and thick where they poked out from under her long, golden hair. Her arms were bare, but her sleeveless white shirt clung tight to her back, which seemed formed of twisted cables under the skin. Her legs were hidden under loose-fitting canvas pants, but gave off the impression of tree trunks, gnarled, rooted.

And yet when she walked, she seemed to glide effortlessly. Her very presence had an almost supernatural air about it, something not of this or any other world. The smoke hadn't even made her throat cough or her eyes water as she'd walked over to the bar and sat down. Those watching swore the black fog had parted before her and fled her approach as if it too were afraid. She had sat there ever since, the only words she'd spoken were to order another round and the only sounds were the hum of the multiple fans and the sounds of the ice cubes in her glass hitting the sides as she picked it up and set it down, every eye on her all the time.

Finally, she stopped ordering drinks and passed out, her head resting on the bar as a raspy snore radiated from her chest throat.

A lone Dåi-ori rebel stood up from his table. He was large even by his race's standards and each clenched, bony fist was half the size of the woman's skull. Still, he stepped lightly toward her, careful not to make a sound. Yet before he was within two meters of her, the woman's snore stopped.

"And what do _you_ want, my brother?" she said, without lifting her head.

"Why you come 'ere?" he asked, in badly accented Standard. "This bar only 'C' clesh. Hum-en allowed ene 'Eh' clesh bars, et leash."

She laughed, loudly, and sat up but didn't turn around.

"Oh my, stop it. You sound ridiculous. I understand Dåi-ori perfectly fine," she said, in more than passable Dåi-ori, "so feel free to use a language that does not make you sound mentally impaired, yes? And to answer your question, I can drink any place I please. Why I chose this one is nobody's business, sons of Ymir."

The rebel returned to his native language.

"Few humans take the time to learn Dåi-ori. Are you a spy? A Policeman?"

In the mirror he could see that she smiled.

"I am not a spy."

All at once came a rush of sound: pistols clicking off safety; pulse blasters whirring up to fatal charge. The woman, maintaining a sinister grin, faced only the bartender who wisely stepped away from the object of malicious attention. The fans continued to rotate overhead, squeaking.

"In that case you are very stupid," the rebel said. "Tell us who you are and which of us you're after and we may let you live."

"And if I don't, you'll kill me?" the woman said. "A Galactic Policeman, a representative of the Federation?"

"If you don't," the rebel said, "we'll choke the life out of you and shove out into space, till you leak out of every poor and stick up against to the gravity clusters."

The woman threw back her head and laughed, slamming her glass onto the countertop into shards, then spun around on the stool.

"You… _cowards_ hiding in your stinky smoky bar will do this, huh?" she asked between guffaws. "I say you will stand there and piss yourselves while I finish my drink, and _shit yourselves_ will I stand to walk out." The woman turned her gaze on the rebel before her. "And what think you, _troll_?"

He roared and rushed her, a bull bearing down on the slight and helpless thing seated at the bar. But she was a quick helpless thing, and somehow as he reached her he was spun around and bent backwards, a piece of glass against his throat.

The Dåi-ori surrounding the scene were stunned, trying to understand what had happened.

"Stay as you are and everyone may live yet, unharmed. Are my words comprehended?" the woman said, her voice gravel and addressing each person individually somehow. It was comical, watching her take the brute toward the door, but blood ran from his neck down to his shirt and her eyes seemed able to lock on to everyone who thought of killing her before she left. "Good. Now, the two of us are departing in the direction of that door. After we exit, I will release him as soon as I feel safe. If any follow, I will cut his balls off and feed them to his wife and children raw. _Are my words comprehended_? Good. Now come on, little brother. Let us go."

So the woman and the rebel made their way to the door, spinning around about three-fourths of the way so they could back out together. Inching their way to the exit and then out the door, the fans spun and the Dåi-ori groaned with strained anger, but no one moved toward them. Leaking smoke billowed out as the woman's back pushed open the door, but she stopped.

"I love killing Dåi-ori. So I hope you all try to find me," she deadpanned. "I hope I get to cut every last one of your troll throats. But his first."

A strained impulse surged toward them, but stayed where it was. The woman backed the rest of the way through the door with the giant rebel with her.

The pair made their way over to an empty alley around the corner then she forced her way into a building that was closed for the night. The woman held the glass to the rebel's throat until she saw no one was trailing them then dropped it. He immediately put his hand to the red slit in his neck.

"Restraint isn't your most honed of attributes, is it?" the Dåi-ori rebel said in impeccable Standard.

"That _was_ restraint," the woman said. "Had they guessed what I was doing, they would have shot you dead in the bar and saved me the trouble."

"_I_ almost believed you were sincere."

"Who is saying that I was not?"

"Uh huh," he sneered. "Alcohol affects the speech of most people. With as much as you drank, I'm surprised you were able to walk, much less move that fast, especially outside of your suit. I didn't even realize you weren't at the bar anymore until I felt that glass jamming into my neck. This was the first time I've seen you in the flesh after all. You know, I always thought you were one of _us_. Finding out you are a human was a definitely a disappointment. Why did I receive this honor, anyway? Last rites or something?"

"Hardly. My suit is in the shop presently, otherwise I would have taken care of matter directly rather than as subtly as I did just now."

"I'd hate to see you be blunt. Well, might as well get this over with. What do you need to know?"

"When is the next attack on the Federation going to occur and where?"

"Two months from now on Ammon-höta, the next time the Inter-Terrestrial Senate convenes on the seventh hour of the planet's day cycle. The target is a senator but I couldn't find out which one." He paused. "Why do you even bother with this assignment now? From what I hear, you pulled in quite a large score recently, definitely more than you're getting for a job like this."

"It all adds up. Moreover, I am simply honoring the grandfather clause of an old agreement. The requestor is dead but I remain a person of my word."

"I'm counting on it, aren't?" He swallowed. "Let's get on with it. Remember, execution style to the back of the head; that's the way the Federation peacekeepers do it when they pick up Dåi-ori rebels. I have a family, Raging Devil. If you don't make this look right, they'll be dead too. Dåi-ori aren't in the habit of showing mercy to spies. Just be sure to live up to your name this once, alright?"

Samus retrieved a pistol from inside of a trashcan.

"You have done a great deal for preserving the order within the Federation at the expense of your own safety. I am sorry we were not able to keep this secret, Valadhi."

"What's there to be sorry for? I knew what I was getting into. I just got too close too many times. They were going to figure out who the information was coming from sooner or later. Perhaps a death in this way will cast some doubt of my guilt into their minds. Better I'm a martyr than a traitor. In the end, I'm dead either way. Please, just finish it, Devil."

Samus took the gun off safety.

"It was nice knowing you, Valadhi."

The report of a gun sounded out in the empty building, echoed, then stopped. The thud of something heavy smacking the wood floor occurred with it in harmony for an instant, and then it too ceased. The lone sound that could be heard was that of footsteps slowly walking away. Then there was only silence.

* * *

**HOUSING UNIT 35  
****DOSTAN DISTRICT  
****1102 NIGHT CYCLE**

Roger woke up again. His sleep had been restless and awkward and he didn't feel any less exhausted than before. A trip to the pill cabinet would solve all of that though. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and groggily made his way to the bathroom. Triple the recommended dosage and a swig of vodka later, he was walking back toward his bed even less alertly than before. Good.

As he approached his window, he saw a shape down on the street level. It was understandable that his eyes were playing tricks on him but dammed inconvenient. He wobbled over to the window to investigate just in time to see a shape jump straight up to his balcony and then leap again past his floor. He heard footsteps in the room above his and he walked backwards to try and follow them but ended up tripping over the corner of his bed and falling to the floor hard. He tried to get up again but found his limbs were rebelling against him. Lazy good-for-nothing appendages... He muttered a slurred curse then drifted off into blackness…

* * *

**DAKEN YA HOKEN**  
**THE NEXT DAY**

Roger sat off in a corner of Daken's shop while the weapons smith moved all around Samus' suit, making various adjustments and modifications along the way. Roger was surprised at how much better it looked already. When he had remarked on that, Daken had retorted that Roger should see the circuitry before any judgments about how far he'd come were made. As the hybrid worked, the two of them made conversation.

"So what time did Samus get back last night?" Daken asked. "I only ask because I heard she was _quite_ busy."

"Oh did you? Then you know more about it than me. I think she came home about, oh, eleven hours into the night cycle or so but that memory's not all too clear."

"And why would that be?"

"I took some pills to get me to go to sleep and let's just say they worked in spades. Woke up in a pool of my own vomit on the floor, if that's any indication of how much they did. I feel horrible but at least I'm well rested, right?" Roger considered more seriously. "If she came home, she was gone by the time I woke up, though. Of course that's not saying much because I only woke up an hour or two ago."

"I have something to say in regard to both of you. As for Samus I know she was out in Trintan district making fools out of some of dangerous fellows at the Black Wall. Well, I don't actually know it was her, but how many women do you know that can drink enough to kill a Space Dragon then manage to get out of an impossible situation taking a hostage that's twice her size? If it was anyone else doing something like that, I'd say they were insane but then no one has the balls of Samus Aran do they?"

Roger laughed.

"I guess not." Roger laughed again.

"But as for _you_," Daken continued, without laugher for once, "it's your life and I don't want to tell you what to do but watch out how you treat your body. Taking pills is fine but when you overdo things, it starts to take its toll on you. Being a Policeman, you need to be in your best shape all the time. One mistake and it's your death. For me, one mistake just means I have to take some more time to undo whatever I just screwed up. The bottom line is, you play for keeps in your line of work. You have to be at your best at all times, you know?"

"I've got it under control. I just take some when I need help getting to sleep and my body won't let me. Anyway," Roger changed the subject, "you seem to know Samus pretty well. Is there anything you can tell me about her that can give me an advantage? Apparently I've become her traveling partner, so any and all knowledge about her will help me out quite a bit."

"Ha, you fool! You ask for what doesn't exist," Daken stopped what he was doing and looked full at Roger. "There's no advantage over that woman. I know her as well as any and that said I know very little. Is Samus mysterious? Yes. Greedy? Without a doubt. Dangerous? You've seen her in action enough to know the answer to that. Beyond those adjectives… well, I can't really say. I know her, I know we are alike in our history and in-betweeness and barrenness, but little else. Your relationship with her is about as close as it gets. The only difference is that I have been around her longer and been able to notice certain things."

"Such as?"

"I think she hates being a woman because she sees it as weak. Inferior. The only real power a lot of women have lies between their legs and they use that to control the men who lust after them. This is her perception, and it's not a steadfast rule in reality but you know it's true more often than most people would like to admit. She doesn't want to be a 'woman,' an object of sexual desire. She would rather be hated and feared than desired in such a way. I'd say she's accomplished that quite well, and I'm sure you'd agree. As far as I know, you and I are the only people she's trusted with the knowledge of who and what she truly is. But don't think she doesn't keep a close eye on me — well _both_ of us now. We guard something more precious to her than all the credits in her bank account: her reputation. Sometimes I wonder if she'd kill me if I told someone the truth about her. I'd like to think not, that her compassion outweighs her need for secrecy, but I don't really know. On the other hand, I'm not curious enough to find out, either."

Daken smiled, sadly.

"You want to know about Samus Aran? You can't. She is something that can never be labeled or put into a box and studied. If you tried to write a book about her you might grasp say, a tenth of what she is capable of but you would never get anywhere close to properly defining her. You can't get in her head simply because she's so unique. Even if there are one hundred trillion beings in the universe, I think I can safely say there's no one else like her. She is walking death and some of the things she's done are hideous and undefendable in any way. She's also a savior and because of her, incalculable people are alive today. She didn't happen to ask you about the purpose of everything that happened to her, did she?"

"Yes, actually."

"Then I see she still hasn't accepted the answer."

"And what answer is that?" Roger asked. "_I_couldn't give her one."

"It's simple really. Bad things happen so that other good things may happen," Daken said. "My mother was raped by a Mehrite official simply because she was a waitress at a restaurant in Üntan district where a group of Mehrites ate at regularly, and my father was attracted to her. There was nothing she could do about it, then or afterwards. She could have had an abortion, I suppose. It was her right and few would blame her keeping another 'half-breed mongrel' out of the world. But she didn't and thus, I was born. I may be a freak of nature that has Mehrite skin and features with a Dåi-ori build and hair but I am here.

"Now what were the chances of my existence? Of the billions of possible children that could have come from that coupling I alone was born. A single instant earlier or later and I would be nothing more than a long dead and decomposed eukaryotic haploid cell lying in my mother's womb with all the rest my potential brothers and sisters. Instead, I am here sitting before you. And that is just one particular instant that had to occur exactly right. Think of all the other instants that had to precisely occur. I couldn't even begin to imagine them all, much less name them. And because the possibly of me being here where I am at this moment is so impossibly remote, my existence and I must have some purpose that could only be accomplished by me. 'What it is'; I still don't know and sometimes I doubt whether or not I _do_want to know but I am certain that one day my purpose will find me, and hopefully then I will be able to accomplish it.

"As for Samus, is the fact that both her parents and most of her colony were killed tragic? Definitely, definitely. Is it a horrible thing that the Chozo, a race that had adopted her and that she loved, basically abandoned her? Of course. But if just these two events hadn't occurred, the Space Pirates would have destroyed the Galactic Federation several times over and many more people than simply Hrün Gruntè Colony would be dead. It's possible she is the only person who had the ability to stop the Space Pirates and the Metroids. Bad things happen and they always will but if certain bad things didn't happen, things in general would be much worse. That's the reason and the answer she was asking for. It isn't the answer she wanted, but it is the correct one. I know there is some guiding force out there who must care about us and the things we do because as bad as things are, they could easily be much worse. Comparing life to an unattainable utopia will always result in disappointment and cynicism but comparing life to the hell that it could quite easily have been or be, results in thankfulness and hope.

"But like I said," he finished, going back to circling the suit, "Samus doesn't want either of these things. She'd rather have confirmation of her beliefs than the truth."

"Of course you're not going to tell _her_ that are you?"

"You think I have a death wish? Of course not."

They both laughed until Daken stopped what he was doing and looked up. The hybrid snapped his fingers and exclaimed something indistinguishable in jubilation.

"That's what it was! I remembered I was going to do something the next time one of you came here but I couldn't remember exactly what. You were supposed to check out my new suit design the last time you came but you forgot."

"Who says we forgot?" Roger said, grinning. "Maybe we just didn't want to look at some rickety piece of junk you've got lying in the corner somewhere. Kidding, kidding. Well, you can show it to me now but until I can get access to a Federation Bank terminal, I'm dead broke. I guess I'll just have to wait for my 'sugar momma' to get back."

"Never mind all that. I love showing this stuff off any chance I get. Besides, just think of this as the test drive."

They moved to the back of his shop and he hit a panel revealing another room below the ground level.

"What did you have to do to get this? I heard Zeta Platform didn't allow any basement rooms that didn't belong to the Federation," Roger asked.

"You heard right. What you _didn't_ hear is how much money I had to bribe an official to get him to look the other way. I mean, you really didn't hear that. But it was worth it. I doubled my workspace and it helped give me a little more privacy to do that work in."

As if to highlight this he pulled a tarp off something to reveal the most beautiful suit Roger Lee had ever seen in his life.

It was slightly shorter than most suits he'd been in but the real difference was the build of the suit. Whereas most suits had looked "blocky" and "machine-ish," this one looked like a perfectly formed man, if a titan. The helmet and visor seemed to be an exact duplicate of Samus' suit but the shoulders were smaller than the bounty hunter's were. The back was larger and looked as if it held a series of jets, as did the boots. In addition, instead of one large weapon arm, there were two smaller attachments that Daken assured performed virtually all of the same functions. They didn't, however, restrict the ability of his hands to move and grasp. Lastly, Daken said, there were many customizable slots all over the suit where more features could be added so that the suit would never be in danger of being outdated. The suit was painted silver, red, and black with the insignia of a red wolf over its heart.

"I admire the animal for its character," Daken explained. "I've heard that in the wild they are loyal until death and fierce, ferocious fighters. I consider both of these traits to be what makes a fine soldier, no matter what side he — or she — is on. If you purchase it, you may change the symbol if you like."

"No, no. It's fine. Jesus man, this is a work of art."

"No. Not a work of art. Art sits in galleries collecting dust; this is a weapon of death, and nothing else. Other than Samus Aran's suit, to my knowledge this is the best powered exoskeleton that exists in all of the Galactic Federation. I may be wrong, but the price will reflect its relative quality."

"Is it fully operational right now?"

"Yes, this is the 'final draft' of the suit and any more modifications will have to be made by the buyer."

"Do you mind if I get in for a second?"

"I'd be insulted if you didn't."

Roger climbed inside of the suit and activated it.

"Damn it this feels better than-"

"Don't say it, Fido. These virgin ears must be protected at all costs, eh?"

"What? I wasn't going to say anything like _that_. You, my friend, just have a dirty mind."

"Shut it and test your new suit out."

Daken walked over to a wall and had his retinal scanned. Yet another wall opened up revealing a large room that covered far more area than the surface level of Daken's shop. In fact, it appeared as if he had bought up much of the property below _and_ above surface level.

"You don't even want to know what I had to go through to get _this_," Daken answered when Roger mentioned that.

Multiple targets and obstacles were set up everywhere. Daken activated the advanced holograms and explained how the suit's weapons worked. The right arm was for solid ammunition (grenades, power bombs, missiles, and high-caliber rounds) and the left arm for energy beams (pulse cannon, flame-thrower, and — one he was especially proud of — the wave beam). The jump jets and visor wavelengths could be activated in the usual way extra features were.

Roger began clumsily moving around the training arena. Every model of suit was a little bit different. Soon he got the hang of it and was doing things he'd never thought possible before. The suit was amazing. This must be what Samus felt like, or at least as close as he'd ever get to feeling like she did. The holograms weren't popping up fast enough for him to shoot them down. After about twenty minutes, Daken told him that was enough and to come back. Roger did, drenched in sweat.

"That was amazing, Daken. When Samus called you the best weaponsmith in the Federation she wasn't lying. How did you—"

"Before you soak me in compliments, you should know that I 'borrowed' a lot of ideas from the Chozo. Poor artists imitate; the great ones steal, yeah? Well, they figured out where everything should go to maximize efficiency and output. I just tried to imitate them wherever possible. Of course I don't agree with rendering one arm useless and putting all the proverbial eggs in one basket. Then again, I don't have all of the same technology to work with do I?"

"Spare me," Roger said. "I changed my mind. I don't really care how you did this. How much is it going to cost the bounty hunter?"

"For her, it'll cost 5.5 million credits. For anyone else, it'd be 5.5 million credits. Don't give me that look. How else do you think I can afford a testing area like this?"

Roger descended from the suit and Daken handed him a towel.

"With a suit like this, I'll probably outlive _you_," Roger said, drying himself off.

"Ha, well, we'll see about that but perhaps now you can feel useful, instead of some impotent fool being dragged along on matters out of your control, eh?"

"By some way I feel as though that feeling will remain regardless of what suit you give me but maybe, just maybe I can be helpful. You know," Roger said, "I didn't even know we were coming here until a few days ago. And after her suit gets fixed, somehow I know that I'll be going with her but I don't know where or why. Can you explain that to me, Daken?"

"Probably because you enjoy her company so much," Daken said, dryly. "Now come on, let's go back upstairs."

As they walked back to Daken's main shop, Roger tried to figure out whether the weapons smith was being sarcastic or not.

* * *

**THE NEXT DAY**

Samus and Roger came to claim the new exoskeleton and Daken promised them that the repairs on Samus' powered suit were going smoothly. The pair of humans left together, Roger for once feeling as if he towered over the bounty hunter and he did by over a meter. Daken laughed at the sight of them walking back toward their (separate) quarters with one another.

For just a few credits, there were multiple means of transportation to get them across the city but they always walked.

Soon, Daken finished up what he could do for the day and decided to lock up and go visit his mother's grave again. It had been a while and even though artificial and bio-engineered flowers were abundant, using natural ones forced him to replace them every so often and he needed the extra motivation. He decided today, he'd go ahead and walk too. However he got there, he knew the old woman deserved more attention than he could give, but he was doing his best and that's all anyone can ask for.

From his vantage point, cloaked and hidden, Clychun the Strong watched everything and found his patience waning.


	9. Shining Armor in the Night

**FOUR DAYS LATER**  
**ORBITAL PLATFORM ZETA**  
**DOCKING BAY 3**  
**0503 NIGHT CYCLE**

Samus sat in her ship in front of her vid screen with the visual recording system turned off. She turned her voice modulator on as a force of habit and waited for the machinery to "warm up." They'd left the Storm Breaker over in Docking Bay 9 with the much larger ships in its class. She didn't much care for it. Her own ship suited her much more properly. An Epsilon-class ship did travel faster than her own vessel but with the Chozo technology upgrades her vessel had, that advantage was minimal.

The monitor told her it was ready and she received her messages. Most were chump-change offers she'd therefore ignored. Somehow, messages always managed to get past her screening systems. She'd have to upgrade again. Soon.

The Galactic Federation Transit System, GFTS, was an imperfect one but with the recent developments in dimensional folding, mail was able to traverse the vast distances of space in a matter of days, several times faster than the speed of starships. Starships had the ability to travel that quickly, but they didn't unless they wanted to come out on the other side a super-dense string of particles. Of course, information could also handle conditions that starships and living organisms could not. The Quadrant Lattices didn't use dimensional folding but they didn't have a noticeable problem because they each encompassed a far smaller area. The GFTS was a behemoth when it stood next to the Lattices.

She gave the voice command to find all accepted messages. She saw one she was looking for and opened it.

_Thank you for the information on the assassination plans. That's the last assignment required of you as of the agreement. Your services due to us on this contract are over. _

_- Senator Daniel Holmes, West Quadrant_

She could have broken faith on the contract a long time ago and no one would have blamed her. Twenty thousand credits per tip was nothing compared to what she could make on an average job. She _should_ have broken faith but she hadn't. In her younger more naïve days, she had seen a contract with that many guaranteed jobs as security in case she needed something to fall back on. _Fool_. She sighed and checked the only other message she was interested in.

_We're pleased to hear the Metroid menace on Tüm has been taken care of but that's not enough. A small group of Metroids has been identified in the planetoid cluster that was once known as Zebes. Intelligence reports massive amounts of Space Pirates occupying Zebesian space and a minimum of seven Space Dragons were spotted before the probe was destroyed. The Federation Military is raising a force to try to combat it but we believe a small force would be better suited for confronting this menace. We can only assume that the unidentified creature you met on Tüm has something to do with this and we thank you for taking care of it. Until you dispose of all the Metroids, however, you won't be receiving your remaining 15 billion credits. You were paid to make sure Metroids are no longer a threat to the Federation and so far you haven't completed your end of the deal. Do so._

_- Rai-Dal, Supreme Councilman_

"Had you not cloned the last Metroid in the universe, I doubt we would be in this situation now, Councilman," she remarked aloud to no one in particular.

What Rai-Dal actually meant by the phrase "a small force would be better suited for this menace" was that the military was not capable of dealing with such large numbers of Space Pirates and the responsibility of the matter would fall squarely on her shoulders. She knew to expect that after her most recent dealings with the Federation. What she hadn't expected was for Space Pirates to be able to rebuild so quickly. Doubtlessly, the Federation hadn't either. Zebes was destroyed. Mother Brain's dead-man trigger had turned the planet into cosmic dust… wait. That wasn't right. When she had escaped from the planet, Zebes had appeared that way but much of the world's material remained intact in the form of large chunks of space debris. Obviously, if the Space Pirates had been able to resume operations from there.

Something was different this time, though. Seven Space Dragons. How could there be seven? Perhaps the pirate scientists had cloned Ridley? But seven times?

To be resuming operations on such a large scale so quickly was almost frightening. It had taken several years of constant reconstruction for the Space Pirates to recover from their first encounter and even that had been incredible. The Federation had been tracking their progress but the Space Pirates had gone from being a dying race to galactic menace seemingly overnight. That could be explained with technological innovations but this had come from absolutely nowhere. Ridley had died three times now… or was it four? But now seven of him.

As Samus reached to turn off the screen, the bones in her hand caught for a moment. She opened and closed her fist slowly, feeling the throbbing pain in her joints return and hearing the pop as an especially fierce jolt of pain shot up her arm. She'd inject some 48-hour painkillers into herself when she got home and that would solve that.

Daken was taking longer than usual but then that made sense considering that the damage he had to repair was much worse than usual. It wasn't that big of a deal. What really bothered her was the feeling she kept getting as if she was being watched. Unfortunately, the Chozo blood coursing through her veins hadn't given her ESP. She'd have to rely on the same senses everyone else did.

Most of the time, that was enough but lately it seemed like she kept facing deadlier and deadlier enemies. Even when she faced the same enemies again, they were much more powerful. Mother Brain would have killed her if she hadn't been saved by the hatchling Metroid. As would have that thing on Tüm if not for Ridley and Roger.

The illusion of control she'd once had kept slipping further and further away. She couldn't control the "presence" she sensed and even though she was far from helpless out of her suit, any number of creatures were more than a match for her without it. The only problem was that she was no longer safe even inside her suit. No matter how strong she became, there was always something out there just as strong or stronger. One day she'd die. She smiled to herself briefly. Of course she would, everyone would, but she had no choice but to make things as difficult as possible for the one who'd kill her.

Time to go check on her suit again.

* * *

**HOUSING UNIT 35**  
**DOSTAN DISTRICT **

Roger looked at the powered suit in his room, currently turned off and hunching over like some worn out gorilla. He loved it. When he was in the armor, he felt so powerful it was addicting. Sometimes the experience of exiting his suit was like tearing off a piece of himself. It was magnificent. Just looking at the thing filled him with some kind of terrible joy. He needed… he needed to stop obsessing was what he needed. The only places Roger'd been in the last four days was his room and at Daken's. Perhaps he'd go see Daken again. It was about time for the weaponsmith to close shop anyway. Maybe they could go get a beer or something. Maybe Roger could go in his suit. That _would_make the trip faster after all.

Faintly, his mind realized it had just bribed itself but he didn't care. Roger slipped into his suit and headed off to see the ol' mutt.

* * *

**DOSTAN DISTRICT**  
**DAKEN YA HOKEN**

Daken the weaponsmith sluggishly raised his mangled head. His right eye was bruised and had already swollen shut. By the direction his nose was pointing, he figured it also to be broken. Blood poured out from it like some red fountain in the center of a monument but it was the deep gash in his forehead that was sending blood streaming into his good eye and obscuring his vision even further.

His left shoulder felt like it was burning though chances were that in reality, it was just dislocated. It wouldn't be that improbable for his arm to be on fire, though. Everything else in his shop was in flames. It was a miracle the exploding boxes of munitions hadn't killed him yet. Then again, considering what he was facing, that might very well be a curse rather than a blessing.

"Where is the suit of the one you call 'the Raging Devil?' " the giant standing over him asked tonelessly from behind an impenetrably dark visor. Daken guessed the giant was over three and a half meters tall but the weaponsmith recognized he was in no condition to be guessing anything. He assumed his ears to still be intact and they heard the faint wail of peacekeeper sirens approaching ever nearer. It was sure as hell taking them long enough.

"Where is the suit?" the giant repeated, this time with annoyance creeping up in the corners of his toneless voice.

Daken shrugged and swung a fist with the speed and dexterity of a drunk to answer his attacker. The giant caught the fist within his own hand and with a motion appearing almost gentle in its simplicity, crushed the weaponsmith's hand and wrist into pulp. Daken screamed in agony but the giant wasn't yet done. With a flick of one of his fingers, the giant thumped him in the chest, sending the hybrid flying backwards. Daken hit the wall and slid to the floor. He'd heard his sternum crack and looked down to find his chest caving inward slightly and his suspicions confirmed. The optimist inside him remarked that at least his ears were still working.

"You will speak, mongrel, or I will kill you in a most painful manner of my choosing. You may still survive this yet. Likewise, the situation can turn worse for you. Where is Samus Aran's suit?"

Daken attempted to wheeze a "screw you" but found he could not at the moment. Instead he extended the middle finger of the hand he still had, at the cost of a great deal of pain. The giant did not understand the gesture itself but he understood the feelings that were being expressed. He picked the ruined hybrid up off the ground much in the same way Roger had described Samus doing to him. For some reason the irony of the two situations struck him as funny at that very moment, but he suppressed a laugh and kept the joke to himself feeling that the being holding him probably wouldn't appreciate it very much. He thanked his Creator for the powerful, almost drug-like Mehrite endorphins that came with his pain, giving him a fleeting moment of respite from the agony in which he knew himself to be. Had his body's painkillers not been so good at their job, he knew betraying his friend would be a much more tempting offer.

"You are a wretched blend of two inferior species and my mastery of you is not surprising nor is it something to be ashamed of," the armored giant said. "You have one last chance before my merciful offer is no more, but lies will not be tolerated."

Daken couldn't hold back his laughter any more, and it filled his shop with the sound, overcoming the fires and explosions that were going off with every passing second.

"What is so humorous?" the giant asked.

"Oo idot. Ah kern't trk wrth oo 'olding meh jrw lrk thrt."

The puzzled giant relaxed his grip slightly.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's not important. I'm sorry but you see I already gave Samus his suit and—"

"You are lying. I know Samus Aran is a female and I know somewhere within this shop lies the bounty hunter's suit."

Daken rationalized to himself that he hadn't lied _that_much. The suit was ready to be picked up and even if it wasn't fully operational, any further repairs were out of his hands. If the giant had come a few minutes later or so it would have been the truth. Okay, well the guy had him on the male-female thing but—

"You have chosen not to tell the truth therefore you have chosen not survive this encounter," the giant continued, interrupting the hybrid's internal monologue.

"You won't either," Daken retorted. "There are hundreds of peacekeepers on this platform and only one of you. You're hopelessly outnumbered and even if you could get through all of them, they'd never let you off of Zeta Platform. Security measures would lock this place down until the Cosmic Navy got here and I don't care how good you are, you're no match for a Gamma-class ship full of Mechanized Infantrymen. You messed up and you're screwed, buddy. Admit it." He paused, his mangled face appearing thoughtful for a moment. "And, look, I know this is an odd question considering the circumstances, but who designed your suit? I can see the similarities to Samus' but yours seems even better. I don't know what's more of a shame, dying like this or knowing there's more people out there better than me."

As would be expected he received no answer, at least not in words. The giant hissed in anger and, with his free hand, the giant placed his palm around the weaponsmith's femur in a seemingly insignificant gesture. The gesture's effect, however, was far from insignificant. Daken heard a snap like someone breaking a tree limb in half and looked down to see his pants ripped where a white object covered in red was jutting out of his thigh. This time, his endorphins failed him. He faintly realized that he'd lost control of his bowels. The giant squeezed the jaw still in his hand. The teeth inside the hybrid's mouth were broken and torn loose from their gums. When the giant snapped his other leg, Daken began slipping out of consciousness and let the darkness overtake him. It didn't last long. He awoke in agony beyond description staring at a tiny orb of white light growing ever larger, still being held off the ground by one of the giant's hands. What dying men think of and why is a mystery that will never be solved but the weaponsmith found his mind drifting back to a conversation he'd had with Roger, days earlier.

* * *

"When you think about it, we're pretty small creatures," Daken said as he maneuvered around Samus' suit with the welder.

"And who's 'we' now?" Roger said sitting in a chair in his familiar corner of the shop, as he ate an apple.

"You know, 'we' Dåi-ori, humans, Space Dragons. Mortals, generally. Planets and stars are colossal compared to us. Of course to the universe even they might as well be flecks of cosmic dust, less than nothing. However, as small as we mere mortals are, we can do things even whole galaxies can't."

"Alright, I'll bite," Roger said as he bit another chunk out of his apple. "What can we do that galaxies can't, Daken?"

"We can choose, and there's no punch line to that. We can always choose how we react to situations even if we can't control the situations themselves."

"Uh huh. That's _real_impressive, mutt, but I fail to see this matters in any context whatsoever."

"Every day we face forces greater than ourselves, man. Every day. Death... death is just one of those forces but it's not the worst. There are many forces far worse than death and some just as inescapable. But one day death will come knock, knock, knocking," he pounded on the table with his free hand for effect, "at the door and calling for our lives and we'll be forced to pay up. Forced," the weaponsmith said holding up a finger as if making some incredibly important statement.

"But I thought you said we have a choice and that separates us from the rest of the universe," Roger pointed out. "Don't tell me you're mixing philosophies on me."

"Ah, but I'm not. Death is a situation, as well as a force. Nothing we can do about it. _When_you die is out of your hands. _Where_you die is out of your hands and _what_you die of, as well. The only thing you or I have any possible control over whatsoever is _how_we face that death. And I'll face mine the only way I possibly can: with a smile." He put his canines on display as if demonstrating the proper technique. "Death will stand before me and swing his scythe and it will bear down on me like oblivion itself. When that happens, nothing _to do_but smile. Smile right at that bastard, face my fate with anticipation and then receive my reward on the other side."

Roger stood up and clapped in mock awe and wonder. Daken took a bow, flames flying out around his hand.

"That's great," Roger said, "but, uh, don't you think you should be watching where that welder is pointing?"

Sure enough the crate holding several missile heads caught on fire and the two of them worked furiously to put it out, laughing.

* * *

Daken reverted to the present, the last one he'd ever get. The corners of his mouth twitched upward revealing what was left of his teeth. His pain was gone yet his endorphins were not the source. He felt hot tears running down his face as warm light enveloped him from a source wholly independent of the giant's palm and he felt indescribable joy. Then the sphere of energy, now many times larger than before, enveloped him as well and his upper body dissolved to dust and the mongrel's life on this plane of existence was no more.

* * *

Clychun dropped what was left of the smoking husk he was holding and it thudded on the floor. He sniffed the air and found the stench unpleasant. The creature had been right. He'd have to act quickly if he wished to be successful. It appeared he'd be forced to kill Samus Aran out of her suit, though. Pity, he'd wanted to face the bounty hunter at as close to full capacity as possible but it appeared the weapons smith was as stubborn as he was inept.

Clychun heard the scream of an artillery shell and looked up in time to see a shell detonate right above him.

* * *

Hundreds of peacekeepers had arrived and waited in position around the shop. When they saw the blast erupt from inside building, the peacekeepers in suits, manning mortar pipes or merely holding rifles, fired into the shop of the weaponsmith. Massive explosions followed. Nothing returned fire. They were given the order to cease fire and the sounds of shots being fired sputtered out after a few seconds.

The platform suddenly fell still once again. Ragged breaths of exhilaration could be heard from time to time but that was all. Suddenly, out of the smoking ruins of the mongrel weaponsmith's shop, beams of energy began to shoot out and peacekeepers dropped one after the other in the dozens. Men looked to one another as they saw people disintegrate in showers of blood, almost spontaneously. Those in powered suits fared little better as it merely took more than one shot to bring them down. Death was far more random and quick than anyone could anticipate. Even the veterans of many riots found themselves to be overwhelmed.

And yet, things got worse. A giant in a powered suit the color of blood jumped through the smoke and flames and more peacekeepers died, some by melee combat but most by the beams of energy. Smoke was everywhere now, obstructing the view. Many suit-less peacekeepers were choking, left all the more helpless. Just as it looked like the peacekeepers would be overcome, Dåi-ori rebels armed with illegally acquired weapons joined them, shoulder to shoulder. For a beautiful moment the two forces, normally in opposition with one another worked in absolute harmony.

It didn't matter much. Soon there were just as many Dåi-ori corpses as there were peacekeeper corpses. Blood flooded the streets. Zeta Platform had not been built for artificial rainfall and lifeblood the dead no longer had any need for flowed in every direction. It was nightmare that was to get much worse before it got better.

* * *

Samus Aran saw the fires before she heard the sirens and was sprinting toward Daken ya Hoken long before she ever received confirmation that his shop was the center of all the attention. Somehow she knew it, just as somehow she knew that the same presence that was watching her had something to with it. She had to confront it, but she couldn't do anything unarmed as she was.

The bounty hunter ducked into a Dåi-ori grocery store.

"I require a pulse rifle, some stick-mines, wave jammers, and as many x-bombs as you can give me and I can carry," she said quickly, but calmly, in the storeowner's native language.

He pretended not to understand her.

"I'm sorry, human, but all I sell is fruit here. I think you're confused. If you'd like an orange tho-"

She reached across the counter, grabbed him by the throat, and jerked him close to her.

"I know that you have everything I asked for in the storage room. Go get it and I will pay you a fair price for it. Do not, and I will get it myself and should time permit, I will most likely snap your neck before I leave. Now _fetch_."

* * *

Roger too saw the fires from a distance. In his suit, he stealthily moved up to edge of the ring of fire and found his worst suspicions confirmed. A Chiro, this time in a Crimson suit, was wreaking havoc around Daken's shop. Roger knew the mutt was dead. Unfortunately, he didn't know whether the weaponsmith's prized suit would be enough. Only one way to find out…

While the Chiro was facing away from him, Roger locked onto the giant's head and fired the pulse cannon on his left arm and two missiles from his right. The cannon struck the Chiro dead on, causing him to lurch forward. But before the missiles could get there, the Chiro was in front of Roger, staring down at him. This one was faster than the previous one, if that was possible.

A small beam of energy formed and released from the Chiro's palm. Without thinking, Roger moved to the side and hit his jump jets. He changed direction, sailed over the giant's head, and sent flames raining down on the giant. As the Chiro jumped up to meet Roger, the two missiles finally collided with the target they'd locked on to before. The giant was knocked out of the air but he recovered and hit the ground so lightly Roger wondered if the missiles had struck their target after all. But before the Space Policeman could land, the Chiro fired a shot that Roger was unable to dodge. It connected in his chest but didn't go through.

Roger fell over from the force but his damaged suit remained functional. He looked up and saw the Chiro standing over him charging up another shot. Roger fired his jump jets and slid away on the ground quickly, causing sparks to leap all around him. As he moved, he pressed the full release trigger for his right arm. Every shell, missile, grenade, and power bomb went off at once toward the Chiro. Orange flames, shrapnel, and a translucent blast aura surrounded where the giant was standing, even as his high-caliber rounds continued to fire off. Roger watched the tremendous explosion ensue and his suit was sent tumbling backward even more swiftly. He managed to get his suit to stand up and he scoured the area for any sign of the Chiro. He knew it was too much to ask for the thing to be completely destroyed but hopefully he'd slowed it down enough that his left arm could finish things off. Otherwise _he_ was finished. Smoke blocked his vision so he switched to infrared.

Nothing.

He thought he heard something behind him and spun to face it. It was just a rat scurrying through some rubble. Before he could turn back, he felt something burning in his stomach. Roger looked down to find a gaping hole in the middle of his abdomen and it felt strange. Not yet painful but just odd. He turned to face his assailant but his legs had given out on him. He tried to get up but his appendages were once again failing him. Still good for nothing. His eyelids felt like they were made of lead and he just wanted to go sleep for a little while…

* * *

Clychun stood over the fallen Policeman for a moment longer, then he began to walk away. The human had done well for being so obviously out-classed. That last attack of his had been impressive, and after the peacekeeper assault and this fellow, his shields were down to dangerously vulnerable levels. The power bombs had left a very large crater in the orbital platform and had Clychun's suit not been as strong as its wearer, he might have been injured. As it was, no permanent damage was done. Except to the peacekeepers caught in the same blast.

Hmm?

The Chiro stopped. Something had just gone wrong with his visor. He couldn't see anything but static. He flipped through all of his sight options only to find none of them were working. There was still too much smoke from the Policeman's attack for plain vision to work either.

Sirens suddenly filled the air again. Clychun wondered what the new cause of it was. He felt a rumble but he couldn't tell what direction it was coming from. The smoke parted just in front of him and he saw a large dumpster truck speeding at him. He grabbed the front of the truck and flung it high behind him, without straining. As he did, a pulse rifle blast hit the corner of Clychun's visor and it cracked, then shattered. He hissed and fired a shot from his palm at the source of the blast. His head was ringing and he knew who had shot the rifle immediately. That precise point of the visor was the only spot vulnerable to a strong attack but only those who had a Chiro — or Chozo — helmet knew it. It didn't matter much but it was annoying.

"Samus Aran!" he shouted above the noise of the sirens, "show yourself!"

Instead, several bombs exploded and sent streams of dark smoke in every direction. Clychun began to fire shots randomly into the smoke but he knew he was hitting nothing. He hissed again and jumped in the air, above the clouds of smoke. As he broke the top of them, something struck him in the back of his helmet and stuck. An explosion focused toward his head went off and it felt like a spaceship had run into his skull. Several more stuck onto him and exploded with the same result but he couldn't see anyone. His momentum finally carried him to a rooftop, where he recovered his senses. She was down there hiding like a coward and he knew it. But where? He pulled small device out of his suit, armed it, and dropped it into the smoke. A few moments later, he heard a _Whoosh!_ as all of the smoke was sucked violently into the device. He saw a woman holding a rifle out in the open, and he attacked.

* * *

Samus saw the blur approaching her from the top of the building and she launched the stick mine anticipating his arrival. It hit its target: the front of giant's helmet. The giant screeched, tore his helmet off, and flung it to the side. Samus saw one of the giant's eyes was ruined, much to her delight. The bird head looked directly at her but did nothing. He covered his eye with one of his hands and the expressionless face somehow radiated with rage.

"I had hoped that the Chozo I encountered on Tüm was an aberration however with your arrival, I see that is not the case," Samus said. "Why you have chosen a life so different from the rest of your species I do not know, but I watched you kill the Policeman and I know the weaponsmith to be deceased as well. This I cannot abide."

He blinked but said nothing.

"These men where none of your concern and though I have no love for anyone else on this platform, they did not deserve to die either. I do not care what you are however the things you have done here are inexcusable. I will not spare your life. Know this."

Again the giant said nothing but he pulled his hand away from his eye which now had blood pouring out it. He looked at his bloody hand with his good eye, then back at the bounty hunter. He opened his beak and hissed.

Samus tried to shoulder her rifle and fire but the giant was already behind her. He struck her in her spine with his fist and a loud crack was clearly audible. Her mouth opened wide with pain but before she could fall, he grabbed her by her hair and flung her almost twenty meters. As she landed, her head smacked on a piece of metal and it snapped backward as blood gushed out of her mouth. Then she laid on the ground motionless. The giant was over her immediately and he kneeled down. He sat her up by lifting her up by her shirt and began charging up a shot.

She came to life and suddenly jammed a knife into his wounded eye. He didn't flinch in the slightest and with his free hand, thumped her outstretched arm. The bone in her upper arm snapped and fell limp and agony coursed through her body. He pulled the knife out and stuck it through her palm, impaling the hand of her good arm to the ground. He began charging up his energy shot once again.

"My name is Clychun the Strong, son of Gamedo the Dread, clutchmate of Kaitok," Clychun said from behind the ball of light as her cheek burned with heat. "And the Chiro happily send a wretched little Chozo's daughter into the maw of the Great Destroyer."

She closed her eyes and heard the sound of an energy beam being released and cringed.

But her death did not come.

She opened her eyes again and saw the eye of the giant roll back in his head and he pitched forward, onto the ground to the side of her. Samus tried to stand up but she couldn't feel her legs at all. Unfortunately, she could feel her arm and she fought against the rising nausea.

"I knew I'd have to save your ass again," she heard a voice say.

"Roger? You are alive?"

She heard a cough and a chuckle.

"That's sort of up for debate, I think. That bastard got me pretty damn good. I'm just glad Daken's wave beam worked so well."

She looked over at the fallen giant and saw his body was still breathing.

"He is not dead yet, Roger, and I am in no position to finish the job."

"Well, I can't say that I am either. I'm just too tired. I got a nap a little while ago but I think I'm going to go to sleep now."

She heard the sound of something heavy falling but was unable to see.

"Roger?"


	10. Brokenness

**ZETA PLATFORM**  
**GALACTIC FEDERATION PEACEKEEPER HEADQUARTERS**  
**ELEVEN DAYS LATER**

Inside a stark white room, a Federation employee in a dark gray uniform sat at a table looking at the giant bound to a wall. A wide, deep chasm separate the man from the prisoner, held in shackles naked, shackled against the wall with arms outstretched as if crucified. His suit had long been stripped of him to be studied, though apparently things weren't going very well with that. The scientists, mechanics, and engineers were thus far baffled. Too bad that local half-breed phenom was dead, and with him his private notes and any hope of unlocking the secrets of yet unidentified xenotechnology. Luckily for the Federation man, figuring out technology wasn't his particular problem. Less fortunately, the giant in front of him, taciturn to point of mute, _was_.

The room appeared empty but a number of tubes were coming out of the wall, sticking into the colossal bird, regulating various systems and fluids within his body as other systems canned every aspect of him. The room's fluorescent lights hummed and the man became, he knew _irrationally_, annoyed. The North Quadrant was archaic in many ways but the lights were one of the most irritating. Humph. He ignored them and began the interrogation.

"Hello. I've been told your name is Clychun. Did I pronounce that right?"

No response. The big yellow eye didn't even roll down to acknowledge him.

"OK. Well, I'm an interrogator for the Federation. We are the local somebodies around these parts, and the people I represent do not happen to be especially pleased with you following the fun you had on this space platform, much of it at the expense of our soldiers. Our _warriors._" The man cocked his head to the side and blinked — his eyes tiny, plain, and brown as they studied the yellow orbs that were intent on ignoring him. He smiled; the cruel beak did nothing but continue to exhale heavily.

"I've heard you consider yourself strong," the man continued. "That's probably true. You…" he looked down at his papers, "bird peopleare something different, aren't you? No, even if we could manage to carve through that thick hide you've got I imagine we couldn't even get a whimper out of you. From what I've seen of our scientist's findings, it wouldn't be a anatomical characteristic so much as a force of will and from what I hear, you didn't even wince when that woman stuck the knife into your eye." He chuckled. "She did quite a job on you, didn't she, Clychun, old boy? Boy, _that_ must have been embarrassing, huh? A woman. Didn't even have a powered suit."

No response.

"So, anyway, basically what we have here is two options. Option one: we do nothing to you. You heard me — nothing. We can't really hurt you or torture you or persuade you meaningfully, so we're just going to keep pumping you full of enough sedatives to keep you conscious but immobile. We'll see how strong you are in five, ten, how about twenty-five years? It will be a sight to see won't it, Clychun? Your muscles will have deteriorated, certainly, but how much? Will you be able to walk around if we let you go? I bet not. Maybe not even able to crawl. What about your mind? Will you still be able to remember your name? After you've wasted away enough, they may let you free of your constraints. In that case, I hope you have enough sense to evacuate your bowels and bladder in the corner. After all, a decade is a long time and after ten years in our care, I'm sure a malnutritioned prisoner will be pretty far down the priority list. You may not get checked on for weeks at a time. Hopefully your sense of smell will have deteriorated along with everything else.

"No, we won't be able to break you but watching you decay will be just as satisfying. No warrior's death for you, strong one. No glory and no finality, either. How long can your species last, anyhow? Maybe you can outlast this century. And the next. By the time you die, you may not even be _you_ any more, philosophically speaking. You'll just be a big black hen drooling all over yourself, squawking while a couple of guards laugh to relieve the boredom. Maybe you'll get extra rations if you do tricks for them. It's quite funny to imagine you clapping and hopping up and down for some bird food, actually.

"So that's option one. On the other hand, we have option two: if you just answer a few of our questions now, we promise to euthanize you when we're finished learning everything useful from you." He stood up from the desk and moved to the front, leaning over the railing. "I know you've understood every word I said, and I know you can understand me now. You have five minutes," he held up his hand, fingers extended, "to think it over before we choose for you. Depending on which option you go with, you could be regretting it for a _very_ long time."

The man turned around and walked to the door, stepping through before it closed again behind him. Then he waited. Another Federation employee, this one a Mehrite, came up and stood next to him.

"Hey Alex," the Mehrite said.

"Oh hey, Prion," the man said. "Wow, it's been a while. I don't think I've seen you since you got stationed in the North Quadrant. What's it been, eight years?"

"Closer to ten and I didn't just _get_ transferred, I requested it. How'd you get here so fast, anyway? I thought you were still living the easy life in the Central Planets."

"I was. Unfortunately I was sent out to one of the moons on Wyndor XI to interrogate some Dåi-ori dissidents about a month ago. I wasn't real close but I was the closest guy around they thought was capable to get this _thing_ to talk. I received a packet of info on the way that kept me busy most of the trip."

"So," the Mehrite inquired, "_doooo_ you think he'll talk?"

"I'm not sure. I'd like to think I hit him in all the right places, but we've got nothing solid on the rationale of their species. So who knows?"

"You sounded good enough to me."

"Maybe we should chain you up in there then." Alex felt a thought come to him. "By the way, any updates on that mysterious woman or Policeman?"

"Depends. What was the last you heard?"

"The woman was taken to one of our infirmaries. She had a broken arm, a concussion, a knife wound, and something was the matter with her spine, if I remember correctly. Broken I think?" Prion nodded, and Alex continued. "Not immediately identified. The Policeman was identified as Roger Lee and was in the morgue's cold storage, waiting to be transferred to a Galactic Police ship, as is Police policy."

"Good memory. You've missed a lot, but good memory. First off, the woman's gone missing."

"Missing? They lost her? A computer glitch or—"

"Not exactly," Prion said. "After we administered the nanos, we expected them to repair and replace most of the damaged nerve tissue rather easily but she recovered more quickly than expected. She broke out and knocked out a few doctors and the power in half the wing she was in along the way. How she did it, I don't know. Most patients can barely stand for a few weeks and it takes a month or two to walk again not to mention that shattered arm of hers. Nanos can't do anything to help that but keep the inflammation down. Nasty, _nasty_ open fracture." He shuddered and made a face of disgust. "No permanent damage was done to the hospital or staff but we have no clue where she is now. She may be off the platform for all I know."

"Did we ever find out _who_ she was?"

"Unfortunately not that either. She wasn't in any of our systems so she's probably a backwater colonist. Weird though. Her blood has something strange in it. Not human."

"Let me guess. You don't know what it is in her blood either, do you?"

"Preliminary results say it's the same as the big fellow in there. We're thinking there was some kind of error or he bled all over her and infected her with something."

"Glor-i-ous," Alex said, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. "Well, at least our Policeman didn't get up and walk out on us."

There was hesitation and he looked up at the expression on the Mehrite's face.

"What? Don't tell me he's gone, too. Oh, damn it all to hell."

"Most of us think the woman had something to do with it."

"But you don't know, right?"

"Right. Too bad though. She had the crap beat out of her but whoo," he whistled, "did she look fine or what?"

Alex covered his ears.

"I don't want to hear about that, Pri. I really, really don't."

"You need to catch up to the times. In the past year, I think I've been with more humans than my own kind. At least with humans I know I won't have to worry about having to shell out a paternity check. They still do that barbarous stuff out here."

"At what point did the look on my face combined with the words 'I don't want to hear about that' mean that you should continue talking?"

"You're just jealous you can't get some from _any_ species."

"I'm married."

"Ah, the monotony of monogamy."

"Fullness of love. Anyway, the five minutes are almost up. Put security on full alert. He's had time to think, and if he's decided this is his best chance to break out, well, anyone who's been to Dostan knows he's dangerous."

"Küntamüntö." _See you later_.

"Hope so."

The man went back into the room with the giant that towered over him but he sat down calmly and let the giant speak.

"I have considered your offer," Clychun rumbled, slurring slightly, "and though I understand what you are doing and despise you for it, I accept your proposal."

"Good. That just makes you smart. There's no weakness in cutting your losses in a situation you can't win. No shame either. Now, tell me who and what you are."

"My name is Clychun the Strong, son of Gamedo the Dread, a Chiro proud and mightyu. I serve the Great Destroyer as a destroyer of worlds."

"And what were you doing in the North Quadrant all by yourself then? Strong you may be, but you over reached yourself if you thought you could take down an orbital platform in the middle of Galactic Federation space single-handedly."

"I came on a personal matter. My goals were limited and I had no interest in anyone else save for Samus Aran."

"The bounty hunter?"

"That is correct."

"And did you find him?"

The giant started laughing.

"Ah. I know now how that mongrel felt. Private jokes are always funniest in the most abysmal situations. Yes, in a fashion. It is of no importance. Aran is living on borrowed time from here forward."

"How so?"

"My people are coming here soon. A tenth of our number could overcome you in days, but the Chiro hordes burn toward you in full even as I speak. Whether you prepare yourselves, it matters not. You will all die, each one after the other. Aran was impressive by your standards but no match even for one such as my brother and certainly no match for me _unaided_. He is the best you can offer and I could trample the legendary bounty hunter beneath my talons without need to re-sharpen them after."

"That's pretty high talk," Alex observed, arching an eyebrow, "for one who was bested by a dying Policeman and one unarmed woman."

"_She was not unarmed!_" the Chiro roared as he lunged forward, tearing at his shackles. The man at the table showed no fear and made no effort to escape as he waited for the sedatives to kick in. He knew if the giant got free, he was as good as dead anyway. The Chiro's yellow pupils dilated suddenly and he sunk back down, as if relaxing. Clychun was barely moving and the man knew the Chiro was no longer fully conscious.

"I see I've stumbled upon something touchy," Alex announced more or less to himself as he made a note. "Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow when the sedatives have worn off and we can start up again."

The man walked outside of the room and saw Prion the Mehrite again.

"New orders," Prion informed him. "The Federation wants the Chiro shipped off to Ammon-höta for an undetermined period of further questioning."

"When will they be here?"

"Another three days. How's that going to affect our boy Clychun's interrogation?"

"It won't if I don't tell him about it. It looks like someone chose option one for him anyway."

"Küntamüntö, Alex."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Prion. See you tomorrow."

* * *

**THAT DAY  
BOUNTY HUNTER SAMUS ARAN'S PERSONAL STARSHIP: ARANES ÂKÈ (DEVIL'S EYE)  
EN ROUTE TO PLANETOID CLUSTER FORMERLY KNOWN AS ZEBES **

Samus sat in her ship staring out into the vastness of space that was the universe. She hadn't put her ship into the proper drive for it to begin dimensional folding but she knew in the end any lost time could be made up easily. Time didn't really matter anymore anyway.

As she looked out into space, she found it was cold, dark, and empty. Inadvertently she found herself relating to it. The emptiness… The painkillers she had for her arm, back, and hand numbed everything but that. Again she'd been at the mercy of another stronger than her and again she'd been saved. The hatchling Metroid was dead, Ridley was dead, and now Roger was dead as well.

Samus turned and looked at the limp, ruined body of the Policeman as it floated in her re-gen tank. Pointless. It couldn't bring people back to life. All it was doing was stalling the decomposition of a corpse. The expression on his face was one of relaxation and freedom and she envied him for it. She'd stolen his body and Daken's gift, taken them with her for a reason she still wasn't quite sure of. She'd retrieved her partially functional suit from the ruins of Daken's shop as well, but at least she knew her motivation for that. It was obviously necessary, but Roger was pointless.

She looked at her broken suit, strapped down next to Roger's, and admired it. Samus could still remember the piece of junk the Chozo had given her all those years ago. A huge, bulky helmet. Armor that left huge sections of her body completely unprotected save the cloth jumpsuit she wore underneath. A blaster with wires and tubes stickling out of it awkwardly. Nowhere near half the functions her suit currently had. Or rather, _had_ had. It was amazing she'd survived at all. But her precious, perfect suit was no more. Ruined, ruined. Everything was ruined. Her body and Roger's. Her suit and his. Daken and his shop. Life and the closest version she'd ever come to normalcy. All ruined. Her cover was probably blown too. The Federation wasn't completely made up of idiots and there were enough clues lying behind for them to figure out who Samus Aran really was. Eventually it was all going to come out, anyway she supposed. Ruined.

She turned back around and twirled the disk in her hand that had been in one of the bags Roger had left in his room. It was titled "History of the Planet Zebes" but she didn't know that she wanted to hear what it had to say, necessarily. Then again, she had plenty of time to kill before she got to the destination with her re-gen tank occupied as it was. Speaking of which, she needed to hook herself up to the muscle stimulator again.

She grunted, pushed herself out of her chair, and floated over to a device on the wall. Samus had set the gravity level lower than usual within her ship. Her back just couldn't take the pressure. She bumped her arm and a wave of agony swept through her, then faded, cloaked by the painkillers she'd come close to overdosing on. She's suffered an open fracture in her arm and she'd be lucky if it healed in three months, let alone the forty-five days it would take to get to Ze— to what had once been Zebes. The distinction made her grin. When she got there, she'd be in no state to take on anyone, and have no weapons to do it. But the Space Pirates were there, and many space dragons. Suddenly it didn't matter so much what the Federation had managed to figure out.

She hooked herself up to the muscle stimulator and then made her way back to her chair. The open fracture would take months but her back might never be fully healed. At least her hand would be mended quickly. Most of the nerve damage had already been repaired. Lucky. Humph.

She put her ship into the proper gear, inserted the disk, and listened to the last words of Arthur Lee.


	11. History of the Planet Zebes

**Deep Space**  
**En Route to Planet Zebes**  
**Excerpt from **_The History of the Planet Zebes_  
**by Arthur Lee (abridged version)**

Zebes is perhaps the most infamous planet in the history of the cosmos. So negative is the stigma attached to it that most people are totally ignorant of its history other than the relatively recent events involving the Space Pirates.

Even in this, most of what is known is rumor, something that a friend of a friend of a government official or colonist saw and knew. It is little better than gossip and therefore utter nonsense. I hope to shed some light about this misunderstood planet and its history while at the same time not offending those who have been affected by its present inhabitants. My simple wish is to pursue truth, increase knowledge, and share these to those who would listen to my words, nothing more.

**History of the Races of Zebes**  
In the beginning, Zebes was nothing more than a fiery orb of chaos and destruction, incapable of supporting any kind of life at all. Just as everything else, patience was required before the conditions could be precisely right. After it cooled, the first beings of life began to emerge. It spread quickly to every corner of the globe. Single-celled life eventually gave way to more complex organisms, some of which still exist today. Literally billions of species covered the planet from its chilling mountaintops and deep blue skies to its fiery mantle and crystal clear oceans. Life was everywhere, however, it was not until only several hundred thousand years ago that intelligent life truly began.

**The Evir: 1st Race of Zebes  
**Originally only tiny ocean dwelling crustaceans, the Evir evolved into a larger and very intelligent species rather quickly. Both their brains and their bodies grew at an astounding rate, and, they were able to live in a variety of climates and areas. Using their amphibious advantage over the other creatures, they soon became masters of both land and sea. They may have been the first creatures to ever erect any kind of complex structure on all of Zebes. Though they ruled Zebes without any opposition for many millennia, their culture and complex history have been lost to time and today we have no idea about many of the very simplest of things that the Evir did and how they lived. Pottery, art, and weapons are almost non-existent; the few remaining remnants of cities and buildings that have been found are in such poor conditions that giant leaps of faith must be taken to arrive at the most basic of conclusions. I do not feel that I am any place to make them, thus, for now at least, imagination will have to suffice where archaeology fails. An exceedingly more detailed history of the planet Zebes begins with the arrival of the Chiro.

What we do know for certain is that when the Chiro came to Zebes, there was a "war," of a most one-sided nature. The Evir were defeated soundly, effortlessly, despite the opposition they put up. The victorious bird-race had almost no use for the oceans and seas, and therefore the Evir were able to retreat back into the waters to survive. Over time, their claws and legs shrunk from lack of use and they lost the ability to operate or maintain much of their technology as a result. The exception to this is the sewer systems they created, still in working order, although, as one would expect, it has its kinks. Whether others have preserved it along the way I have yet to determine.

I personally believe that though (or perhaps because) the Evir are so reclusive, great numbers of them exist all over the oceans of Zebes just out of reach. In the seas of Maridia near the Space Pirates' main base, there have been conclusive sightings but I have as of yet been unable to locate their natural homes. It is possible that the Evir have become a completely nomadic species but I find this very doubtful. Regardless, due to the Chiro's dominance as well as the loss of almost all of their technology, the Evir have sunk into almost total obscurity and irrelevance where they were once masters of an entire planet, a lesson many species would be wise to take heed of.

**The Chiro: 2nd Race of Zebes  
**The Chiro have been known by many names throughout all parts of the galaxy and without exception they are negative. Names such as "The Destroyers" and "Blood Gî-kkai" condors or hawks would be the closest comparative creatures to the animal which this name refers were spoken in terror. In their own language, the Chiro used a compound word to form their name: "cho" meaning "bold" or in some contexts "enlightened" and "ir" meaning "warriors" or "conquerors" (in the Chiro tongue the two are absolutely synonymous because the Chiro never went to war without achieving utter, absolute victory and conquest).

As a result, for an innumerable time the Chiro conquered, settled, and moved on, leaving a trail of blood light years long. Every planet that came under their control was "cleansed" of all "impurities." Entire phylums were wiped out and always the dominant/sentient species was eradicated in any area that was under control of the Chiro in case they should ever become an "inconvenience." At one time, their history tells us that they looked for challenges to overcome but they soon realized that there was no such thing as a challenge for them. One race was destroyed just as easily as the next. It seems that some began to doubt their purpose. As one Chiro lord put it in his poetic memoirs, "What purpose is strength if it has no test/ What purpose life when all barriers have been crossed?"

And so, by twist of fate, the Chiro turned their collective, predatory eye to Zebes.

The Chiro took the planet from the Evir and began to "settle down" as usual. A wealth of paleontologic knowledge about the bone structure of the Evir was gained after discovering one of the many mass graves that are believed to exist. Signs of killing fields have been found all over the planet. Evirean constructions were torn down during this time and the Chiro began to build new structures, putting their mark on the land. Then a change took place that totally altered the destiny of the Chiros and perhaps the galaxy itself for all eternity.

They wanted to stop.

A faction of Chiro (calling themselves merely the "Chozo") wished to cease their conquering ways and simply confine themselves to Zebes. They wished peace and wanted to heal and grow life rather than kill and destroy it. Naturally, there was opposition to this sudden change of heart. Those who did not wish to change their ways (calling themselves the "Torizo") began a war against their brothers. It lasted many years and was a stalemate. The Chozos made their home on the surface and outer crust of the planet while the Torizos made their home in the scorching bowels of what the pirates call Norfair. Even the architecture reflects the differences between the two powers' ideals (though it possible that another earlier or later race contributed a part to this). Despite the fact that Chozos and Torizos were killing one another on a daily basis, the Chozo were winning simply because they had contained their war-mongering brethren. In desperation, the Torizo attempted a final, all-out offensive to break free. They failed. Millions of Torizo were killed because they refused to surrender, however a few thousand gave up or were captured. The Chozo, having lost a great number of their own, could not bring themselves to callously murder these Torizo, so instead they imprisoned them in a state of suspended animation inside great statues and in their hands the Chozo placed all of their weapons and enhancements of war vowing never to use them again for any purpose. The Chozo devoted their entire existences to protecting life, no matter the cost.

Using their superior technology, they were able to do just that. They watched as humanity reached out across the cosmos and settled on a planet they renamed Ammon-höta but only after stealing it from a primitive sentient species first. They watched as the different races were conquered and they watched the birth of the Federation. They watched as this fledgling Federation sought to bring "peace" to the galaxy but in the process brought pain and death, forcing peace and membership down the throats of those who did not want it. But the Chozo did nothing to stop them, only aid those who had already been hurt in some small way and never became directly involved.

A few tried to colonize other planets such as what we now know as Talon IV and Wing IX however they failed miserably and paid a price for it. The Zebesian Chozo took this as a sign that they should never stray too far from their "home planet" and became even more reclusive. So time passed and things went on the same, much as they had before. And then the Space Pirates came. ::_at some point between the destruction of the Evir and the advent of the Space Pirates the climate of Zebes was polluted into the acidic wasteland that exists today. Need to work this in smoothly, but where?::_

**The Space Pirates: 3rd Race of Zebes  
**The Space Pirates are not truly a "race" in the sense of the word that we use it. Many different species make up the Space Pirate "race." They are as close (and probably closer) than most races are and there is actually no fighting between any Space Pirate and another as long as they belong to the same clan (though some may credit this fact to the psychic link they have with their leaders). A clan consists of one "Mother Brain," one "Ridley," one (adult) "Kraid" and an army of what we would call "Zebesians." Mother Brain, Ridley, and Kraid are more of a title than actual names and probably because of this, those who would encounter more than one clan might think the three can reincarnate themselves or at the very least have the powers of instant transportation.

Each clan is slightly different as the Space Pirates are an incredibly adaptive race though the "Big Three" stay much the same. Within a few generations, a Myrnai's entire body structure can be dramatically altered to fit whatever is most needed (I will get to exactly what the Myrani are later). The history of Space Pirates is not very well known before they came to Zebes, even to themselves, only that they were in another region of the galaxy and were a nomadic race.

The Space Pirates have a legend that says that the Chiro conquered their home planet thousands of years ago but they were never able to completely wipe out several of their species because they banded together and fought their common foe to a standstill. Unfortunately, after the Chiro left, their planet was ruined. The Space Pirates took to the vast abyss of the cosmos and spread out away from one another. Both the name and location of their home planet has been lost to them so one sphere is just as good as the next. The name they used to call themselves has long been forgotten and "Space Pirates" describes them just as well as any other name could. They have accepted their role in the universe as well as their method of survival. Few are willing to trade with perceived invaders so they are pirates of space.

Now obviously this account is biased however much of what they say makes a great deal of sense. Of course no one is around to contradict them either. After coming to Zebes, they slaughtered the pacifist Chozo in what they call revenge for past wrongs. Many Chozo were alive for years being tortured. In my time here, I have stumbled across bones of Chozo everywhere, many dry, some even still rotting. Many Space Pirates wear Chozo bones as jewelry. A few Chozo did manage to leave the planet but the Space Pirates say they tracked all of them down and killed them. I doubt this very much but I have no proof. The Space Pirates are not saints in any way however I believe that few in their place would have done much different. Unfortunately, the Galactic Federation's iron grip over medias of all kinds makes it impossible for anyone to even consider this. Perhaps the institution of a Grand Lattice would help solve some this? Although many logistical problems still must be figured out. _::May be forced to cut out graf to keep things flowing::_

The pirates have also settled a planet for the first time in a long while and despite what they may say, the truth of the matter is that it is because they have nowhere else to go. They cannot conquer Galactic Federation planets and the path "behind" them belongs to other Space Pirate clans who have followed them, the closest and most dangerous of which being the Kihunters. Becoming stationary raiders was their only true option.

The Space Pirates have dramatically altered and added to the planet Zebes. Under the surface they have created a jungle of life to remind them of their home world, wherever it may be. They have carved large caverns out of sheer rock and built countless structures. Their scientists have grown and modified creatures on Zebes from Alcoons and Beetoms to Metaree and Cactacs, increasing natural aggressive tendencies tenfold and augmenting innate abilities. They have built themselves an impenetrable fortress to resist the Galactic Federation and it has for the most part succeeded. The Space Pirates are an amazing race but we can never forget that are also exceedingly dangerous. I am always wary and alert for I know that should they ever change their minds there would be absolutely no hope to my survival.

_::To be worked in somehow: Pirates don't usually take things for themselves. A shipment of grain is almost worthless to them, but sold to the right market it can be very valuable. Pirates are in the business of redistributing goods in way that is the most beneficial to them. By taking the goods at a very low overhead, they can undersell them in any market, make an outstanding profit, and avoid Federal taxes but also make the products more affordable to those citizens with low incomes. How ironic that the enemies of the Federation serve such a vital function in keeping it working.::_

**The Space Pirates  
"Zebesians": Bones of the Space Pirates**  
The Myrnai race (for that is the proper name of the species) is made up of several castes that perform the various needs of the Space Pirate Empire. While each caste is important to maintaining the pirate empire, the warrior caste is by far the largest and highest in honor. _::The "brain" caste likely gets less respect than it deserves for all of the work it has done to improve and modify the technology the Space Pirates use.::_

There are few things more dangerous than a Myrnai warrior. They are adaptive and naturally strong, multiplying at a very rapid pace and acquiring skill through age and instinct rather than experience. This doesn't mean that they are incapable of learning, however their actual learning pales in comparison to their instinct. Most are equipped with weapons that allow them to release a short-range beam of electricity which severely damages Federation suits though I understand that the Federation has developed some prototype suits that resist this attack and prevent it from shutting powered suits down completely. As Myrnai age, their carapace strengthens, their agility grows, and their aggression rises at an unbelievable rate.

I have yet to find a Myrnai warrior who has died of old age. It is simply unheard of. Death during a marauding mission is the preferred means of passage into the next life although defending the homeworld is also accepted. It is said that the longer Myrnai live, the less chance they have of entering paradise with their god. Whether this is because they will commit more sins or simply because they must compensate for their time in this plane of existence I am not quite sure of yet. They are also rewarded for taking as many beings with them as they can before they die, though this is thought of as simply a "bonus," keeping other individuals as pure for their own good. The religion is muddled at best but I believe in time I may learn to understand it better.

_::Space for adding actual breeding practices of Myrnai; explaining lack of male members::_

**Kraid: Lord of Brinstar**  
Kraid is a large green reptile approximately fifteen meters tall with three holes in his abdomen capable of releasing parasitic organisms that live inside of him. I have not actually seen the inside of his stomach (thankfully) however I do not think that his large belly is because of fat, so much as it is to provide room for these parasites to live and grow. This is all conjecture and hopefully, I will never find out firsthand.

Using Ridley as my interpreter, I was actually able to converse with the gigantic reptile. Had the space dragon not been there, however, I fear that I would have been "gobbled up" almost immediately. From my conversation, I learned that Kraid is a short-lived, asexual creature (though I will continue to refer to Kraid as a male) who, though sentient, is rather brutish and comparatively dull. He is at the top of the Brinstar's "social ladder" however, he does not remain there for long. He spawns many children (through self-fertilization) who grow and fight one another until only the strongest of them is left. After he is large enough, that child kills and devours Kraid and the cycle begins again. The forced natural selection improves the quality and strength of Kraids in general very rapidly.

Kraid is somehow quite important to the ecology of Brinstar, and possibly responsible for much of amazing overgrown vegetation that appears there. To the Myrnai, Kraid also seems to be involved in their lifecycle, at least partially, releasing command pheromones that regulate much of their activity and behavior. He functions more as a master gland than a master, and when deceased, is quickly recycled back into the environment for nutrients.

**Ridley: Commander of Space Pirates  
**Ridley is one of the most puzzling creatures I have ever come across in all of my life and travels. He does not have the direct, brutish strength of Kraid nor does he have the incredible intellect of Mother Brain and yet he is arguably the most dangerous of all the Space Pirates. He is crafty, patient, and even though I know he has slaughtered more people than I have met, he is civil and courteous when he wishes to be. Basically, he is the hand of the Space Pirates, carrying out all tasks and objectives that must be fulfilled.

Space Dragons are not psychic or telepathic in the sense that we usually define the word however they can communicate with their own species over incredibly vast distances. Ridley told me that this is because they are so spread out and few in number that their brains evolved in this way so they could all keep in contact with one another. They share what they know with one another so all are very intelligent, well informed, and never alone unless they wish to be. He has never seen another of his kind despite his extraordinarily long lifespan but he accepts this as the way things must be. In a very candid moment, he told me that he feared that his species was dying out and that soon they would be forgotten like specks of dust caught in the solar winds. He was silent after that for some time.

I attempted to press further and almost lost my life for it. He lunged forward and snapped his teeth shut just before they closed over me. Feeling his hot breath pour over me, I can safely say I have never been filled with more fear than I was at that moment. He then said that he was tired of me and informed me that if I didn't leave, he would rip me to pieces and feast on my carcass. I of course left immediately. The encounter was a savage reminder of Ridley's duality. He is a nihilist in the truest sense of the word and perhaps that explains his callousness of all of his actions.

He once told me:

"_If there is no purpose to the universe and everyone someday shares the same fate, what is the point of morality? All moral boundaries are subjective anyway. What is holy to one is sin to another. Why base my life around some abstract notion of moral superiority when I am going to die regardless of any good deeds I may or may not do? Only fools think themselves important enough for their lives to mean something_. _Besides, I cannot change what I am going to do any more than any other creature can. Every being's actions are merely a formula. Brain chemistry and experiences determine all choices while letting us think we made some enormous, painstaking decision when the truth is, we never would have made any other. I am under no such illusion. I will have an indefinite set of options but only one choice will be made and even that choice is already predetermined. I am a prisoner of my own choices and I am wise enough to accept it."_

For most this comes as a shock. We generally assume the Space Pirates to be a race of evil, mindless beasts and yet their "leader" actually has a very well thought out view of the universe, if a rather pessimistic one (although I am sure that he would say it is merely realistic). It is also in sharp contrast to the Myrnai philosophy on life and the after-life therefore I often wonder how they get along with each other. I assume that the Myrnai view Ridley as bound to an afterlife of fiery torment for taking up too much time during this life while Ridley sees them as fools wasting their time following the invisible and make-believe.

Ridley is a very lean creature and I have yet to find out exactly what his diet is (yet another occasion where ignorance is superior to firsthand knowledge) though I can assume the easy answer is similar to the ancient 500 pound gorilla joke: "whatever he likes." Though Kraid is the Lord of the Brinstar, Ridley is the master of Zebes and when he wishes, Ridley can force Kraid to do what he wants him to. He disciplines those who Mother Brain senses are out of line quite harshly and some are never seen again. Perhaps he snacks on them? Ah but I'm rambling now and this is pure speculation. _::cut this section out of the final copy and replace it with more on the biology of Ridley especially Poltik Gland and its ability to create liquid fire.::_

**Mother Brain: Superior Psychic Intelligence  
**Mother Brain is not actually a natural species such as Kraid or Ridley. She (He? It?) is a gigantic techno-organic brain which is connected to all of the Space Pirates through a psychic channel that can be used to organize and inform all of the Space Pirates at once, or separately if the situation so requires it. The Space Pirates can act as one because there is one brain, which connects all of the parts that make up the Space Pirate organization. She is also the primary force and organizer behind the genetics and technological experiments that the Space Pirates are constantly engaging in.

Coincidentally, Mother Brain was herself a genetics and technological experiment. One of the Space Pirate clan's scientists took several brains, mutated them until they grew together, then fused the omni-brain into a computer interface. Through the "Ridleys" communication with one another, the basic information of this process was relayed and later repeated throughout all of the different clans though each made their own slight adjustments making each Mother Brain as unique as the clans themselves. The Mother Brain I saw was completely surrounded by a defensive web that is for all intents and purposes impenetrable. I was only able to make it before her company due to my protection by Ridley and a brief deactivation of the defensive web (though it was more symbolic than anything else because Ridley was simply translating the messages Mother Brain was sending him). I can safely say that for anyone or any force to make it to the Mother Brain, it would require an act of God.

However, I do believe that the heavy glass shield that surrounds the Mother Brain is as much for protection as anything else.

_::to be further defined::_

**Regions of Zebes**

**Crateria  
**Crateria is the name given to the surface area of Planet Zebes. Due to the constant deluge of acid rain, only small grasses and moss dot most of the landscape. The region of Crateria surrounding the Pirate's main base on Zebes is very rocky and mountainous however, as with most planets, the surface of Zebes is far from standardized and the geography varies wildly. There are several areas on Zebes which are still capable of sustaining life on the surface, however I haven't visited them yet.

The Space Pirates have few important structures on the face of Zebes, due in part to the Galactic Federation's policy of scorching the surface of planets before they deploy full-scale military action. The structures that do exist are enclosed in mountains or other natural fortifications.

**Brinstar  
**Brinstar is divided into two very distinct sections. The first is totally devoid of plant life and contains only sparse animal life. It is rocky and cold, but has very obviously been shaped by the hands of intelligent, albeit macabre, beings. The skull statues do not match other Evirean, Torizon/Chiron, or Pirate designs, thus it leads me to believe that at some point a fourth intelligent race of Zebes existed, but other than this one oddity there is nothing to support it.

Meanwhile the second area is a maze of heavy foliage that is actually an artificially created and maintained climate lying under the surface, where it is protected from the acid rains of the sky. Genetic splicing and synthetic energy sources have produced a sprawling, lush underground jungle, a zone of sweltering, almost suffocating heat, and a dangerous landscape all in one. The area is currently rather small, or at least too small for an adult Kraid to inhabit however the Space Pirates have plans to expand it greatly.

**Maridia  
**Maridia is the name given to the sea near the Space Pirate's home base on Zebes. The bodies of water on Zebes are surrounded by land, unlike other planets, however the oceans are still quite large and as such, the Space Pirates haven't done as much exploration as elsewhere. If the Evir still inhabit the world in large numbers, they reside here with the remnants of their culture and technology.

**Norfair  
**Norfair is deep below the surface of Zebes. The lava and heat prove to be too much for unprotected visitors. The area of Norfair has crystallized "bubbles" which rise out of the lava and provide natural stepping-stones and in some cases walls and ceilings as giant air pockets form passageways and rooms. There has also been the recent discovery of a "Lower Norfair" which is even hotter than "Upper Norfair" and contains artificial structures fashioned from stone. This is either the work of the early Evir, the Torizo, or perhaps another race unknown at the present time. Some of the work resembles the architecture of the non-jungle portions of Brinstar, at least in spirit. I have heard reports of a few bird statues being located done there, but I haven't actually investigated it myself at the present. If these rumors are true, that would certainly solidify the hypothesis that

Ridley prefers this area to his current home, however it isn't ready for him to take up residence just yet and may not be for some time.

_:::To be revised and organized:::_

**Chiro weaponry  
**An average Chiro is an imposing 3.3 meters in height. Skin is very hard and capable of absorbing large amount of damage. Said to be capable of releasing explosive attacks from within bodies but nothing conclusive to validate this claim. Seems biologically impossible. (Perhaps a device of some sort implanted within them?) Enormously strong and agile. Space Pirates have encountered several "Torizo" who were awakened from their stasis-imprisonment and found them to be severely lacking in strength, quickness and toughness though the longer they were allowed out of their stasis, the more dangerous they became. I assume that the stasis process severely disrupts Torizo/Chiro biologic faculties making them relatively helpless.

Powered suit itself is not mass-produced but designed specifically for each individual and each is totally unique. Seen not as a weapon as most in our culture think of suits, but as an extension of the warrior itself. Built with the ability to be upgraded by future designs and improvements. Blaster usually on left arm and able to function from many different power sources and fire many different beams on separate frequencies. Hundreds of missiles of different sizes also within blaster to be fired using a technology I have not yet discovered. "Pocket dimension" has come up in my mind but I find the idea of super compressible materials much more likely, and engineers I've asked have confirmed this. Wiring and circuitry must be very delicately placed though. space for more on missile and blaster technology At the rate Chiro were minimizing blaster and its components, possible that they could have done away with the large, unwieldy blaster "arm" and achieved the same result placing it within the palm of the hand or even the fingers had they not decided to become pacifists.

**Crocomire and Evir leader: Draygon  
**Ridley shared with me that there are actually several large creatures that already inhabited Zebes before the Space Pirates settled it. One of the fiercest resides with Ridley, deep in Norfair and he has been given the name "Crocomire." Whether he is the last of his kind or whether he is but one of many remains to be seen.

There is also the Space Pirate legend of an Evirean 'king' (or queen I suppose) called Draygon who rules the Evir within each generation. While descriptions of him vary and are most certainly exaggerated (30 meters in height and several tons in weight) there may be at least some truth in them. It is also possible that Draygon is not really a king, but a perhaps a long-surviving member of the warrior caste of the Evir. Neither or these hypothesis is supported by the fossil record so it is equally possible that if Draygon exists, he is merely a bizarre science experiment.

_::need definites::_

**Chiro Religion  
**The Chiro are far from a secular society. They have endless amounts of texts devoted to the exploration and expansion of their religion, though part of this is due to the fact that war and death are so ingrained into their religion. According to the Chiro, there are only two gods. The first and lesser god is the Great Destroyer whom they serve. The second, and more powerful, is the Mother, whom everyone else serves. Their religion is rather unique in the idea that they serve a weak deity, while everyone else serves a strong one. From what I can decipher, their religion goes something like this.

In the beginning, there was everything. For an infinite amount of time everything existed and the universe was full. The Mother kept creating her children and would not allow them to die so there wasn't any space left for anything new. Stagnation. No one could move and nothing could change so the universe was merely stagnant. Her first-born son saw this and recognized it as the evil that it was so he decided to make room for others. He began to kill and destroy and thus made room for new life and new circumstances. He broke the planets and suns apart and flung them from one another in an event that created the universe everyone lives in today. He separated them so much that now, everything has more space to grow safely

The Mother was not pleased and sought to return things to the way they were. She put in all her children the desire to expand beyond their limits so that hopefully they could help her fill the universe again and again have everlasting life. Her son, now known as the Great Destroyer, managed to protect one race of people from this diseased mindset to be his helpers in ensuring that stagnation would never again fill the cosmos. This race was the Chiro. The Great Destroyer gave them the desire to kill but the ability was innate. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Therefore, they began creating powered suits to augment their natural abilities. Every generation improved on them and made the art of death more and more efficient until just one was capable of destroying whole fortified bases.

However theirs is a purpose they can never fulfill, and a goal they can never attain. The Mother has too many on her side and the Great Destroyer only one. One day they will lose, but until that day comes they will continue serving their master.

_::finish reading ninth Book of Süm Pâÿ-ishni::_

**The unknown races of Zebes**

Several questions still remain. At least two major shifts in the behavior of entire species have occurred on Zebes and it would seem to be more than simply coincidence. The Chiro came to Zebes and some decided to give up war while others became even more violent. In this instance, the peaceful faction was successful and lived on Zebes from then after.

The Space Pirates came to Zebes and their ambitions grew beyond simple looting and selling. Some Myrnai grouped together and attempted to stop them. In this instance, the peaceful faction was unsuccessful. They fled to Federation space.

Two events separated by a millennia yet so obviously similar there must be a connection. But what? The planet Zebes is rather old and the Evir appeared on the scene comparatively late. The architecture of Lower Norfair might have been designed by the Torizo and the architecture of Brinstar was crafted by the Space Pirates. But why? Why would two races alter their behavior until they are at two radically different extremes? Is it possible that there was another race before the Evir that had so great an impact that it continues to effect the residents of Zebes to this day? I would like to call myself a skeptic and the discussion of matters of a spiritual nature is not my forte however might not the personifications of good and evil exist and effect living beings? What would this mean in a greater sense to the universe?

_::end works in progress::_


	12. He Who Praises

**NORTH** **QUADRANT**  
**RHONU PLATFORM**  
**MARI MARI DINER**

"Homen Tau."

The lanky Mehrite smiled at the sound of his name, showing off his sharp white canines with delight. His tiny pupils dilated slightly in the presence of such dim light, but it was the manner of many such faux-ancient diners and it didn't bother him. His name had been the first words to break the silence that had persisted for more than 10 minutes. The two figures, a Mehrite and a Dåi-ori, sat across from one another — eating runny eggs and doing nothing respectively. An odd sight, but then, what isn't odd about the North Quadrant?

"I see you like the sound of your name," the Dåi-ori said. He was old and his hair had long turned white but he retained the size and muscular shape of his youth. Scars crisscrossed his face and exposed skin, but seemed to have left him more patient. "What does it mean, if I might ask?"

"It means 'He that Praises' in Minouri, and I do so, every chance I get. If I can gain the blessings of the Divine, what reasons have I to worry?"

"I see. And you think you are indeed blessed then?"

"I think," Homen said slurping up some yolk quickly and getting some on his chin, "the message you sent me didn't include what _you're_ called. Before we go on, it's only fair we both possess the other's name, yes?"

"Kalin Hanshi." The Dåi-ori said it quietly.

The Mehrite stopped eating his eggs as his ears moved to the interrogative mood.

"Not of _the_ Hanshi shipping family?"

"Would it change anything if I was?" the Dåi-ori asked.

Homen considered a moment.

"No, I suppose not."

The Mehrite reached for something with his left hand.

"You're left handed?" Kalin asked.

"Yes. It's not so uncommon for my people, though I fail to see how it has anything to do with matters of death and slaughter."

"Everything is important in such matters."

"I don't mean to rush you," Homen interrupted, leaning forward slightly, "but perhaps you could get to the point sometime soon, eh? There's a very pretty, _very _slutty human woman I have to meet in an hour and all signs point to me getting lucky in the very near future so I'd like this to be over by then."

The Dåi-ori didn't flinch and another uncomfortable silence settled before he finally spoke again.

"Is it any wonder we despise your people?" he muttered. Homen pretended not to hear, and Kalin continued. "We need you to kill a certain man on a certain date in a very certain way. We need you to do it because one of us could never get close enough, and you are probably the only Mehrite willing to kill such a target."

"Oh, there's more than you think, master troll. Every lapdog wants to snap the fingers petting it, at least from time to time. Even when it's our own fault that we're lapdogs."

"What I need to know is, do you accept this contract?"

"Of course not. You haven't even given me a good idea of what it's about, and when someone contracts a bounty hunter for something like this, it sounds like he's more interested in an assassination than retrieval. Which I absolutely refuse to do, unless," Homen slurped yolk, "there are more credit digits coming my way than the initial offer suggested."

"This is not something to be talked about flippantly," Kalin said. "Can we trust that should you not accept this job, you'll stay quiet about it, not a word to anyone?"

"Of course, of course," Homen said, pantomiming the act of brushing the question off.

The answer was quick, but spoken far beneath the Dåi-ori's breath.

"We need you to kill Rai-Dal at the convening of the next Inter-terrestrial Senate."

The Mehrite's smile suddenly dropped, along with his fork. He leaned forward.

"You want me to kill a Supreme Councilman, but not just any Councilman, the _speaker_ of the Inter-Terrestrial Senate!?" he whispered back vehemently, looking around as a wave of paranoia swept over him.

"That's right," Kalin said, nodding slightly.

"You're crazy. You're _fucking crazy_ and that's all there is to it," Homen said. "Even _I_ heard the rumors of an attack going down against the Senators at their next assembly. The place'll be crawling with guards and security will be heightened more than normal, which is already insane, Rai-Dal even more so. He's surrounded by personal bodyguards and scanners all the time. The last person to try an assassination attempt on a senator of _any kind _didn't even make it within 50 meters and they've increased the standard level of security even more since then."

Homen Tau started laughing.

"Is that a no?" Kalin asked.

"That's just a reasonable reaction to an obviously difficult situation." He thought for a moment. "How much will I be compensated?"

"Five million credits."

"Five _million_? These are Federation credits we're talking about, right?"

"Correct."

"If I'd known you people had that kind of money, I would have started working for you a long time ago. I can use whatever weapon I want, yes?"

"How the job gets done, doesn't matter. It just needs to be obvious his death wasn't of natural causes so others will know."

"Oh believe me, they'll know. Tell me, do they need to know that it was the Dåi-ori or you in particular behind the murder?"

"No."

Both sat for a few minutes, each mulling their own part in the endeavor.

"I must ask though, why Rai-Dal?" the Mehrite asked.

"So you accept the assignment?"

"Until I get all of the information, no. Obviously, I don't want to find anything unexpected while doing the job or for you to try and kill me after I'm done, especially for a job on this scale. Tell me what I need to know. Then, I'll put my divine blessings to the test. But I honestly don't see how it will work."

"On your life, your mother's life, your honor and—?"

"I swear on my cock, yes. Get on with it."

"A few weeks ago on Zeta Platform one of my most loyal men was suspected of being a traitor. He was dragged out of a bar and killed by Federation peacekeepers before we could discover whether the rumors were true or not. Combine that with the destruction of the Dostan District and chaos that occurred less than a week after that, and we have no clue where the leak really came from so we have no idea whether it still exists or not. We know it came from Zeta Platform and, as you said, we know that the Federation received word of our plans. We don't think they know specifics, only that the general idea and when it was planned. If Valadhi was a turncoat, anyone could be. The attempt to destroy the Senate is common knowledge. However, only two people, you and I, know of what you are going to do.

"I fully expect the original attack to fail but because it will, you can succeed. Their target is Senator Stone of the South Quadrant, not an especially important senator in his own right. Once they are stopped and apprehended, that heightened security will relax. There will be tension and then when it seems to be there no longer they will breathe a sigh of relief and during that breath, we can strike. This may be the best opportunity we'll ever have to get rid of Rai-Dal."

"You said the word 'we' quite a bit, but it is I who'll be doing all of the work. Again I ask, why Rai-Dal?"

"Other than the fact that he's such a recognizable symbol of the Federation, Rai-Dal has committed countless additional crimes against Dåi-ority and it is high time he received his justice. It was he that ordered the massacre of NT-5,45,639."

"I see," Homen purred with reflection. "I remember hearing about that. A large-scale revolt of gangsters and guns-for-hire, wasn't it? They showed us some of the aftermath for Galactic Policemen urban pacification training. I found it hard to believe toddlers and old women could be criminals _or_ mercenaries. Luckily I'm a bounty hunter now. Better hours and pay, too." Homen flashed a mirthless grin. "I accept. The money's in the right number of digits, after all."

**AMMON-HÖTA**  
**SEVERAL WEEKS LATER**

Homen Tau and his assistants walked to Rai-Dal's home calmly. Of course the assistants were calm. They didn't know what was about to happen.

The Mehrite had dressed well, much better than usual, to fit his role. His black robes and white collar showed he was in touch with the fashion pulse of the day, though an upper-class citizen because he had opted out of the usual coat and pants look that marked the lower classes. The double-edged blade strapped to his right leg rubbed against his thigh slightly but the discomfort was slight.

The Senator's home wasn't really a house. It was a palace. It had been built far outside the boundaries of the urban megalopolises and the white pillars of the front rose out of a grove of trees like colossal white citadels.

Rich bastard.

They were overpaying these guys if they could afford something like this. No wonder the military was getting strapped for funding these days. Of course the Federations wasn't providing _all_ of the senator's income as the packages his assistants were holding could attest. Too bad it was taking a cut out of Homen's five mil.

The Inter-Terrestrial Senate had been postponed for the rest of the say following the failed terrorist attack on Senator Stone and discovery of explosives that were on their way to be placed around the Senate building. "Interrogation" had confirmed that they were all part of a Dåi-ori revolutionary organization but that was the only attack planned. Still, the Federation had thought it in bad taste to continue so the senators had been sent back to their quarters until the next day. Rai-Dal had had his main home built on Ammon-höta so he had decided to get some of his other business done on that day. Homen Tau had been one of the first to make an appointment for the "unexpected" opportunity. Most had to wait months to get a chance to meet with Rai-Dal, especially within his home.

Rumors were the palace was a place more secure than most military installations. Nonsense. The senator was a politician if nothing else. Some of his more sensitive visitors wouldn't dream of appearing if a scan of their persons was a prerequisite. Besides the matter of dignity and pride, he might find some things he didn't want to see. No, no. Rai-Dal and his security detail would like visitors to believe that scanners are hidden behind every wall but it just wasn't true. They didn't exist. Visual recorders either. Considering the types of people that senators saw and the kind of things that went on in their households, that was a liability. The metal detectors were another story. They existed, but just for show. More trouble than they're worth and someone could easily use an undetectable material. It was manually controlled to go off as an excuse to pat down and strip search anyone that looked suspicious, i.e. Dåi-ori, rough or bitter-looking colonists, etc.

_Homen, however, obviously won't have that problem. _

He'd brought no other weapons than his sword on the off chance he _was_ searched, though even that was carefully disguised. The penalty for non-military personnel carrying guns on Ammon-höta was several years in prison and a temporary revocation of personal status after getting out of prison. Ceremonial or traditional weapons weren't included in this.

He arrived at the gates and indeed his name was on the list. He was let right in, of course. Campaign contributions? Certainly, certainly. Come right this way sirs, come right this way.

His assistants delivered their credits to proper location and Homen received a smile, a handshake, and some token joking conversation from the Supreme Councilman. Then he moved on to some of his other guests and Homen began to mingle with the others at the party. He could mimic the social graces of many classes and it came into play here. Unfortunately, this was a slightly more formal occasion than the drunken orgies some senators had, but with enough wine, who knew? Homen Tau needed to stay sober anyway so it was all for the best. He sent his assistants home and waited for things to start to wind down. There were less than two dozen people left now. Rai-Dal stood up and apologized but he'd been through a lot, you see. Of course. Not traumatized, but worn out. Perfectly understandable under the circumstances. Best he get his rest. The senator retired to his private room and made it clear he was not to be disturbed.

That, of course, was Homen Tau's opportunity.

He began to speak with one of the councilman's guards. Homen needed to deliver a message to Rai-Dal, one that could only be delivered in person. Couldn't wait, sir? Couldn't wait. Even this late is risking things but wouldn't want to upset the senator for the whole party. Bad news you mean? Yes, very bad news, but it must be given to him personally. Pronto. Matters of utmost importance, after all. We'll see what we can do, sir.

Homen waited but knew he'd be allowed up. The guard came back down and told him so. A spiraled stairwell lied between him and his target, humorous considering the owner was such a large, unhealthy man. Homen bounded up the steps easily, used to physical exertion. Rai-Dal probably had a back way up, automated and certainly not labor intensive. Something might have to be done about that. He came to two very large closed doors and he knocked on them loudly as he called out, "I have a secret message for you, Senator."

"Quiet!" Rai-Dal shouted. Everyone in the room fell silent and left, mostly young women, but all still fully clothed, if a little too bubbly, whether from wine or natural stupidity he couldn't determine. From where Homen was looking, Rai-Dal was definitely not "traumatized." As the last person shut the door behind herself, Rai-Dal began walking to his bathroom. He had more than one private quarters like most rich, but just like the poor he still needed a place to take care of personal matters.

Homen stood back from the door but from the sound coming from the bathroom, he knew Rai-Dal to be relieving himself, if only for a little while.

"So I hear you have a 'message' for me. I admit I don't recognize you, Homen is it?"

"I'm honored you remember my name, great legislator."

"Bull crap you are. You're a businessman. We know how to recognize one another, after al. Now: what's this message you have for me? I assume that they had to get someone else what with all of this terrorist business today."

"Yes, you could say that.."

"Well? What was so dammed important that you had to interrupt me?"

"I think it would be best if you just saw it for yourself."

He heard Rai-Dal beginning to finish up and he walked toward the bathroom.

"While I still remember it, is there another way back down there that won't take my breath away?" Homen asked.

"Yes, there's a lift by the balcony on the other side of this room. Of course a man your age should be out doing as much as he can so he doesn't turn out like me someday," said the Senator. Homen heard a sound he assumed to be Rai-Dal slapping his large gut.

Homen turned the corner and saw Rai-Dal was splashing a little water on his face. He couldn't see and Homen handed him a towel to dry himself off with.

"Now about that message, Homen," the senator began.

Homen smiled.

"Yes. I have a message for you from God."

The senator finished drying off his face and with puzzled eyes that could finally see clearly, caught a glimpse of his death. Homen reached with his left hand and drew the sword from his right thigh in a fluid motion. Before the man could react, he plunged the sword deep into the senator's belly. Rai-Dal's eyes went wide with surprise and looked down at the blade, then back at Homen. His mouth began to fill with blood and bile and he coughed but other than that he made no sound. Even the handle sank in after the blade, which came out his back. Homen did not pull the sword out, and the fat closed over it.

The Mehrite went back to the doors of Rai-Dal's room and checked to make sure no one had seen what had happened or was coming. No one had. He shut the doors and locked them securely.

Homen Tau walked over to the porch and found that again, he was unnoticed. He disabled the lift, but nothing too obvious. Didn't want anyone coming up from behind. He made his way down the side of the building and began to move quickly toward the spot in the woods his employers guaranteed him a space-worthy vessel was hiding. It'd better be.

After he'd gone, the servants came in and found the doors of the upper room locked. They said to one another, "Oh, he's probably relieving himself in the back room," and they waited until the point of embarrassment. Finally, they called out to him, but when he failed to respond or open the doors, they went and took a key and unlocked them. There they saw their lord fallen to floor, dead.

While they had waited, the senator's assassin had gotten away and the killer was never identified although it was reported that a Mehrite was the last to be in the company of Rai-Dal. Unfortunately, no one knew the name. Upon investigating the body, they discovered no bullet hole, or energy burn, but a sword _inside_the senator's body.

The sword itself was incredibly well crafted. It was a foot and a half long, double edged and covered in the ancient markings Mehrites had once used on their weapons of old, adding to the theory that a Mehrite was responsible. Obviously humans and Mehrites weren't on such good terms, people began to say. Maybe they didn't deserve the privileges and lax security they were given everywhere. Even dogs lie at their master's feet right before they bare their teeth and bite, after all.

The Dåi-ori smith Homen had contracted to make the sword had had to rush to finish it fast enough for Homen to make it to Ammon-höta on time but it was still high quality and a good counterfeit, all things considered. If anyone investigated it, it would look like it came from the Mehrite homeworld itself. Killing Rai-Dal was merely his job. Driving a wedge between the trust of the humans and their greatest allies was a bonus, and Homen's idea at that. Whether he got paid a bonus or not remained to be seen.

"Homen Tau," he said, speaking his own name aloud. He smiled and showed off his sharp canines to his reflection in the glass of his starship's front shield. All had gone well, better than well in fact. Perhaps he could get more contracts. Perhaps he'd found his calling, and a very well paying one at that.

To each his own.


	13. The Golden Silence

**WX-956,742,3**  
**Planetoid Cluster Formerly Known as Zebes**

"There it is, Ridley."

The Space Dragon pointed and spoke the words out of habit though no sounds actually came out. The vacuum of space never did lend itself well to verbal conversation. Despite this, the being she was communicating with received the message perfectly.

"I can see it with my own eyes, _Ridley_. It feels stupid using these titles in the presence of one another, doesn't it?" the second Space Dragon replied.

"To you, perhaps. I've grown so accustomed to it myself that 'Ridley' might as well _be_ my name by now. How other beings identify us is not an important matter, nor should it be. Our people know one another with or without names; why not let the Alqu'or identify me in a manner and title that pleases them?"

"Letting buffoons define who _I_ am has never been very high on my list of preferences."

"If you let someone else define who you are, my dear Ridley, then who is the true buffoon?"

The second Space Dragon hissed in facetious displeasure. He had no response and the silence was now perfect in all ways. They could both see the spacecraft approaching and began summoning the other Space Dragons from across the former planet. The bounty hunter was coming and it would be best if they were all prepared.

* * *

A large group of Space Dragons was gathered on a sizeable chunk of the former planet Zebes. They were in the middle of hundreds of thousands of such chunks of varying sizes and shapes, surrounded in all directions. Some of these masses had domes, some had starships docking, some had beings that could be seen scurrying this way and that on some tedious task, but most were barren. Such was the rock that the Space Dragons were congregating on, presently. It didn't have a gravity stabilizer on it thus they were forced to hold themselves to it, spread out over its surface in all directions as it spun slowly in relation to the other rocks. A line of sight was not necessary between the Space Dragons, of course. The contrast between light and dark was stark and alien to those used to terrestrial life. Blinding sunlight and pitch darkness an inch apart. Of course to beings as well traveled as Space Dragons, such ambience did not bother them in the slightest.

"You hatched close to this region, didn't you Ridley?" one of them 'said,' with a voice that could not be received and a mental message that could.

All the Space Dragons looked at one another and laughed, though again no sound could be heard. They instinctively knew which of them he was referring to but there were twenty-seven such beings with that name. Humor can always be found in the seemingly absurd.

"Yes, I'm originally from this area," the individual being addressed, responded.

"Then what do the symbols on that ship mean?" asked the first.

"Hmm. Well, it says 'Devil's Eye' in the language of the, Påi-ori I believe it is. It's been quite some time since I've been through this area, though, so I'm not completely certain of that. My memory isn't what it used to be," he answered.

"Devil's Eye? Doesn't sound too friendly, does it?" a third Space Dragon broke in.

"Did you not listen to your brothers when they told us of this bounty hunter? She is anything _but_ friendly and dangerous as well. Two of them died by her hand," said a fourth.

"Yes, and a third had to save her," remarked another.

"Which confirms just how dangerous the Chiro really are to those who had any remaining doubts," pointed out the fourth. "Before he died, Ridley _was_ able to mortally wound one of them, but it was only because of the Gî-kkai's own incompetence. Any skilled Chiro would never have allowed their battle to get to such a point. In the end, Ridley still died a horrible death on that forsaken planet, alone and in terrible pain."

They all paused and lowered their heads for a moment.

"Somehow I have the feeling we'll all be dying alone and in terrible pain with the Chiro coming this way," someone else commented.

"Which is why we need to convince Aran of the necessities of peace," another jumped in.

"Which is why _we_ shouldn't be the ones to try and do the convincing," a new Space Dragon countered.

"Agreed. Our task is to be nothing more than disarming her. Easy enough, all things considered," a final Ridley replied.

They saw the Devil's Eye land a few kilometers in front of them, on a separate planetoid, barren as well. They looked at one another and launched from their perches toward the ship, fanning out and surrounding it. With graceful synchronism, the Space Dragons landed all around the ship, warily.

One of the Ridleys began to shout then realized the futility of it. The other Space Dragons laughed at her. She showed her teeth but laughed as well. She banged on the side of the ship with her tail but there was no response. Ridley shrugged but received no further advice so she climbed atop the ship. She searched for the hatch then found the button that unlocked it. When she found it, the hatch opened up and air began rushing out of the ship, but nothing more. Ridley looked back but the other Ridleys had no advice. She poked her head inside and saw a suit pointing its blaster at her.

"There's no need for that," The Space Dragon explained.

A beam of light began to gather from the end of the left arm.

"I said there's no need for—"

The beam was suddenly fired directly at Ridley's head and it struck the Space Dragon on her crest. She reared back in pain, and "fell" off of the ship.

"Are you injured Ridley?" several Space Dragons asked.

She growled and lunged headfirst back toward the opening of the ship. The other Ridleys scrambled and pulled her out and off the ship, dragging her to the surface of the asteroid and holding her there as she struggled against them.

"Stop! Ridley!"

"That bitch shot me in the face!" she roared.

Another Space Dragon went and looked at the ship. He cautiously peeked his head over the edge and saw a powered suit, charging up a blast. He pulled his head back just as another blast shot out from the ship. The blast struck a small asteroid, vaporizing it immediately. Ridley stuck his hand in and pulled it out quickly. Another blast erupted. He repeated this several time until he got the pattern down then reached in and pulled the powered suit out of the ship while the blaster was charging up. Just as he'd thought, there was no one inside.

"It's not Samus Aran. In fact, I don't even think it's her suit. What shot Ridley was just an empty powered suit set on an automatic targeting system. Luckily, the suit is damaged. I think I saw another human in the ship however it's not the correct gender to be the Hunter. "

"If the suit's empty, then where's the bounty hunter?"

One of the Space Dragons suddenly tensed up and looked in the direction of his clan's base.

"What is it, Ridley?" one of them asked.

"I know where Samus Aran is."

* * *

The Space Dragons followed the one who had received his Mother Brain's message and flew toward one of the larger domes. It was the main base of the Shæ'rnôth tribe and the Space Dragon that had led them there was that tribe's Ridley.

"Defense systems detected an intruder of a species not cleared by the computers, but they were destroyed before a lock or positive identification could be made," he explained, "several Shæ'rnôth warriors were sent but nothing else was heard of them. Who else could it be but the Hunter?"

They landed and entered without much resistance. A few Geemers wandered across their path, but nothing more than that. As they continued through the labyrinth of technology, there were a few signs of fighting here and there then all at once, they all disappeared. The Ridleys couldn't figure out where she'd gone. A check with the sentries further down the hall confirmed that she hadn't come that way and she hadn't had enough time to get back out the way she'd come. In fact, the only other hallway was… the electrical system. But that was too small, even for an unarmored human. No apparent damage directly to the electrical passageways to widen it enough, even if the Hunter was a contortionist.

A voice broke in over the communication system.

"She is using the Maru Mari technique. Her suit has compacted itself into a sphere approximately a meter in diameter and she is most likely navigating the electrical wires to their destination: the Mother Brain's chamber."

"So speaketh the Enlightened One," grumbled a Ridley.

Some hissed and looked at one another, then all twenty-seven sped toward the Mother Brain's chamber, prepared to arrive in a foul mood.

The Space Dragons entered the large chamber from both sides, thereby sealing off the exits major exits. The room was a dull metallic gray with steel plating and various circuits and wires running everywhere. There was supposed to be a defensive grid surrounding the room's main inhabitant, but it had been destroyed by someone or something. As they looked around, the Ridleys saw the Hunter dressed head to toe in her red and gold cybernetic armor, standing right next to the Mother Brain. The large glass container that had encased the techno-organic creature was shattered, leaving the Mother Brain vulnerable. Samus Aran's face was hidden behind a jet black visor and out of her helmet a cold metallic voice addressed them with air of superiority even though she was obviously surrounded and outnumbered.

"Greetings Ridleys. If you would be so kind, I would advise you not to approach me in much haste and to keep your distance, at any rate. You see, there is a malfunctioning electrical outlet on the other side of me that is very unsafe," her helmet gave a nod in its direction, "and should my grappler beam become entangled with it, I should hate to imagine what might happen if I touched another organism. Electrical currents course right through it; in fact, they are actually amplified by my suit beyond their original voltage. An outlet generating the amount of power I estimate that one to have could have dire consequences. For example, if I should come in to contact with the dearest Mother Brain in such close proximity to me, I should think headcheese is all she would be good for. You would not want that, would you?"

"You wouldn't be so stupid. Doing that would wound you as well," a Ridley challenged and took a step forward from behind her. A slight spark from the end of her cannon stopped him in his tracks.

"Perhaps," she remarked, her cannon still sending a shower of sparks out of the end of it, "but I do a lot of stupid things when the mood strikes me. Moreover, I have fifteen armed power bombs with me and thirty-five more set on a dead-man's trigger, each one programmed to harm everything but myself. If I am given reason, I will detonate the fifteen and should you kill me, you will be sure to receive the remainder. I would not suggest causing either of these options, as I know your species cannot stand them. Now that I am sure I have your full attention, answer several questions I have. I suggest you tell the truth as I have already scouted much of this area, and I become irritated when my time is wasted with lies. Where are the Metroids and Metroid cell samples being housed?"

"You idiot," a Ridley mumbled. "You really don't understand what's really going on here, do you?"

"You have Metroids and data that you have stolen from Aknor Base on planet ER458 where you slaughtered every soldier to the last man, as you did to the SR388 research team and Ceres Station before it. You have brought them back to what remains of Zebes, the same location that you conducted experiments on the Metroids and attempted to use them to further your plans of galactic conquest, _twice_. I have been gifted with the ability of pattern recognition, Ridleys. Your actions have become so predictable they are cliché."

"It may seem that way to you but our objectives are quite different from the Myrnai and Kihunters you came in contact with. If you had the necessary perspective and information—"

"You have not answered me, dragon. If you do not care about your Mother Brain, I urge you to continue not providing me with the proper information."

"She's not my Mother Brain but all the same you'd do well to listen to what I have to say. Everything we've done and are doing here is for the greater good. We have no interest in fighting with you here and now but I know we can't possibly convince you otherwise. There _is_ someone here who you might want to talk to, though."

A large creature, over thirteen feet tall, ducked under the door as it entered the room and several Ridleys moved out its way. It was dressed in a simple brown cloak but as it removed its hood and revealed its face, Samus faltered slightly.

"Welcome to Zebes," the creature said in its own language.

"Father…" she whispered, almost inaudibly in the same language.

"Hello Hatchling," responded the Chozo, "I have missed you as well."

"What are you doing in the company of Pirates?"

"I will explain it all to you, Hatchling, but it would be best if you stopped threatening this Mother Brain and the Space Dragons first."

"I am no longer your hatchling just as you are no longer my father. It was my mistake to originally refer to you in that way. You are in no position to advise me on matters of life and death. You lost that position eighteen years ago and you will never gain it back."

"This animosity is unreasonable, Hatchling—"

"Samus Aran."

"No one here is attempting to kill you but if you continue with these threats, you may very well die."

"I am not frightened of dying."

"Always the stoic. Who are you trying to convince here, Hatchling?"

"My name is Samus Aran and _you_ should be wary as well. The power bombs in this room are more than capable of harming you as well. Do not think I will compromise my mission out of any sentiments I once had for you."

"Ah yes, the power bombs."

He pulled back one of his sleeves slightly, and touched his palm in several places. He stopped, held his open hand up, and beams of light shot out from the tips of his fingers, covering every inch of the room. As the light stopped, he began speaking again.

"The power bombs have been deactivated. Now what will you do? Most of the Ridleys in this room do not care what happens to that Mother Brain, therefore you have no hostage. If it will get you to cease this senseless behavior, I will provide you with the information you require. _We_ have the Metroids, Samus — the Chozo, not Pirates. We are experimenting with them and have been for some time. The Space Pirates have gathered here to help us work against the greater threat, a threat even Metroids can assist us against."

"No… no you cannot be doing this. There is no greater threat than the Metroids. They cannot be bargained with or tamed or controlled. They exist to for the sole purpose of destroying other beings."

"The same could be said of many species."

"Most species are not capable of the level of destruction that Metroids are. They have been the undoing of all that have tried to control them. I do not believe in hexes but if they exist, the Metroids bring them along. I do not know why you have cast your lots in with pirates such as these, and I do not care to know. Whatever the reason, it will not stay me from my purpose here," she said as she aimed her arm at him.

"Samus, Samus. We will do whatever we like. Did you genuinely believe we would provide you with that powered suit without taking some precautions first?" He touched his palm several more times and pointed his hand at her. Her suit suddenly went limp and it crumbled to the floor as all of the systems inside the suit powered down.

One of the Space Dragons looked at the bounty hunter, then back at the Chozo.

"What did you say to her?"

"Do not bother feigning ignorance, Dragon. I know you all learned to speak and understand our language long ago, as is one of your species' gifts. Samus is now held captive within her suit although physically and mentally she remains alert. Êytero Ridley, take her to a Shæ'rnôth ship then transport her to the dome we have prepared for her."

"And after that?"

"Leave her. I will take care of all matters shortly. The rest of you Ridleys go back to your tribes and keep as much order as possible, even if your Kraids must share in the responsibility. Shæ'rnôth Ridley, see to it your Mother Brain is mended as soon as possible. Time is always imperative, however everything must continue running smoothly to provide us with any hope at all of success."

Twenty-five of the Space Dragons bowed and left, one of the Space Dragons picked up the bounty hunter, and the last began gathering personnel to repair the Mother Brain. The Chozo stood for a moment, looking at the monstrosity before him. The Mother Brain's veiny "body" bulged and strained itself to reassert its telepathic link with it tribe. Repulsive. He was sickened by it, everything about it and everything it stood for, but such were the sacrifices that came from choosing lesser evils. Such were the times they lived in. He sighed, then put his hood back on and left the chamber as well.

* * *

Ridley carried the Hunter to the ship that was prepared for her, a stripped down vessel that was characteristic of the Shæ'rnôth. They had nothing of the sense of craftsmanship or pride that the Êytero had. Pity. With all systems inside the suit shut down, it would be best not take her directly through the vacuum of space. Humans were such frail creatures. The vessel was far too small for him to fit inside so he placed Aran within the ship and waited as a Shæ'rnôth came and set the coordinates for him. As the Space Dragon escorted the ship on its flight path it neared its destination, and a shining dome distinctly marked an otherwise barren and indistinguishable hunk of rock came into view. Soon they reached it and he took the Hunter out of the ship and placed her within the dome made especially for her. It was large for private quarters, filled with both the necessities and luxuries the Chozo were accustomed to giving themselves… and their favorite pets such as this one. The Hunter was a terrible reality that had killed many Space Pirates, though not of his tribe. Given the ability, she would surely kill many more. He did not believe it was in their interests to befriend her but his Mother Brain told him it was all for the best, just as aligning with the Chozo was for the best. He had to trust the Mother, for if he couldn't do that, who could he trust?

"Is everything satisfactory in there?" the Ridley asked her, as he was leaving.

"As soon as I am able, I will hunt you down and force you to swallow your own teeth. Once this takes place, I will be much closer to being satisfactory," she answered, this time in her own voice.

He snorted to suppress a laugh but left her quickly. He didn't want to have to suffer the company of the Chozo, after all.


	14. Unknown Devils

**WX-956,742,3**  
**Planetoid Cluster Formerly Known as Zebes**  
**Dome of the Hunter**

The group of Chozo entered the domed chamber, shuffling forward peacefully in nothing more than simple, uniform cloth robes as the manicured talons on their feet tapped the floor softly. Their beaks curved cruelly down from beneath their hoods, but there was menace in them now, and the giants hid their massive, feathered strength under the long tunics in the same way they disguised their great technological prowess with simple austerity. Humble beyond all humility, the procession was lead by a scholar who had once adopted a young girl turned would-be savior, but the Chozo considered themselves equals and as there were no distinguishing qualities in how they adorned themselves, Old Bird's status of first among equals was exactly that.

Approaching the chair in the room's center, they found the bounty hunter lying limply across her chair, even now, still in the powered suit they had given her, although even the most charitable among them noticed she had not taken as good care of it as she might. As one and as if with silent signal they all removed their hoods, but it was only her father who spoke.

"Greetings Hatchling. I apologize that we were forced to meet again under such circumstances however I admit I am glad that I am able to see you after so long," began the Chozo scholar in his race's native speech, a language as smooth and elegant as the speaker himself. "Times and circumstances are dire everywhere. The Chiro are coming, Hatchling. All of them, from every corner of this galaxy and any other. We believe them to have a relatively small population nevertheless even a few thousand or less would be more than enough to destroy this 'Galactic Federation.' Your personal experiences with them on planet Tüm and Zeta Platform let you know that well enough. The truth of the matter is that we have no idea about the upper limits of their abilities and technologies, only that their lowest far exceeds anything the Federation is currently capable of dealing with. The Space Pirate clans have been ravaged by nothing more than scouting squadrons of Chiro. A group of four such warriors destroyed the Vortrini Pirate clan's leadership and took control. They killed the Vortrini's Mother Brain and Kraid and forced the Ridley to become their subservient pawn before bringing them to capture the Meroids. The Space Pirates were nothing more than puppets on Tüm, do you understand? Four Chiro wielded the power of an entire race as well as any puppet master possibly could.

"Other Pirate clans have suffered, though _their_ hierarchies have remained intact. We have summoned them here to regroup and regain their strength, for the time being. Yet, even in the weakened state they are in now, the 30 Space Pirate clans in this coalition could easily wipe out the Galactic Federation. It would not matter much if they did. They could not stem the Chiro.

"The state of affairs seems hopeless but it need not be so. Separately the Space Pirates and Galactic Federation are no match for our former brethren. If they stand without one another, they will fall as surely as the planets turn and the stars burn. But should they stand together, there is indeed a prospect of success, no matter how small. The Space Pirates bring their mastery of genetics and cybernetic technology as well as their great brute strength. The Galactic Federation brings its superior technological firepower, industry, population and its already large, standing military. We will do what we can to assist with both of these. Our own numbers are few however we can improve efficiency and share our own technology where it will help.

"Ah, and the Metroids we salvaged from planet Tüm can be used as valuable weapons as well. The abilities of the mindless predators are indeed dangerous to all, but with our help they can be controlled. Mutual cooperation is the only way we will not all die now.

"Hatchling, we need you with us as well. You have great celebrity and influence with the Federation. Though you may be as infamous as you are renown, we know you to be greatly respected by all and you will be listened to. Once the Federation discovers just how dangerous the invading force is, they will surely join us," Old Bird concluded.

A wheezing grunt emanated from the exoskeleton in the chair, and the woman inside shifted to sit more upright, resting metal elbows on the armored knees.

"You have made pacts with devils and yet you have no idea what you have done," she finally responded, in her own true voice. "Chiro or no Chiro, your compromises will end badly. In a moment of carelessness or bad luck Metroids will get out of control and be unleashed upon the galaxy as a threat once again. The Space Pirates will go along with you until it serves their best interests not to, then we will find a knife in our spines. They cannot be trusted to do anything but evil; it is their nature. There are better ways to save the Federation than conspiring with such creatures, if indeed the Federation even deserves saving."

"Can you honestly believe that? Can you sincerely believe that we did not exhaust every other possible option before coming to this one?" Old Bird asked, spreading his arms open wide as if pointing out each individual rock that was once an entire planet. "Do not presume to think that your parents were the only ones who were lost to Space Pirates. Zebes was our planet for thousands of years at the time the Space Pirates arrived. We lost everything and everyone that did not escape with us. Do you think we are so blind that we do not know what Space Pirates are capable of? We know all too well. However, we also know what the Chiro can and will do once they arrive, and we know it to be far worse. Allying ourselves with the Space Pirates has not been something we have enjoyed however it has been necessary if we wish to save lives. Our predecessors stood by and watched tragedies happen and yet they did nothing to stop them. We have chosen not make the same mistakes."

"No, it appears you have chosen to make new ones…" Samus growled. "I will not be a part of something so ill thought out that will cost the lives of so many, no matter what role I might play."

"We have spent more time thinking about our decision than you could possibly imagine. If you do not aid us, deaths will be on your hands," another Chozo in the front of the group warned.

"You warn me that deaths will be on my hands? I, who have waylaid armies, who have ended species and planets, and who have an armor that even now stinks of corpses — to whom do you think you address, Nestling?" she snapped. The stoic Chozo questioner flinched, and then melted into the second row. "Do not confuse the deference I give my once-father with blushing naiveté." Samus turned her attention back to Old Bird. "What would I possibly gain from become the Space Pirate's whore or the graciously condescending Chozo's pet? You will have to do better than that. You will have to do much better than that."

"What would you have us do, Hatchling?" her father asked.

"I would have you turn back time, and I would have you rescue my birth parents rather than arriving too late to do any good. And then I would have you poison yourself so the vermin who ate you on Zebes would perish as well. Perhaps you can do one of these things? Any will do."

"They are impossible; you know that."

"Until you can bring back to life those who are dead, my answer is the same."

They stared at one another in silence as a minute went by. Then another. Then another. Though her eyes were behind the visor, the group could feel her nigh-unblinking eyes on them, and the Chozo realized that for the time being, they could not change her mind. Almost lazily, they turned and walked back out of the room, but her father remained behind. When they were alone he began speaking to her again.

"What has happened to you, Hatchling?" Old Bird said, cocking his head to the side as if to get a better look at her. "Where is the young creature that cried when she saw the pain of others, and would bend down to move insects out of her path? The young creature that would laugh out loud and not know why, only because she was happy. Where is the Hatchling that scrunched up her face when her father said something she did not understand and came running into my arms when she was afraid?"

"That Hatchling grew up to be the Raging Devil she was trained so expertly to be."

"We trained you to protect life. We knew that to do that many times you would be forced to kill, but it was always to preserve life."

"You gave me ever-marketable skills that have stayed true and spoke chatter that I have long since discovered to be empty drivel. I do not bring life; I bring death, to those in my way and even to they near me. I have lost the few I would venture call comrades, often due only to association with me. Perhaps you have seen the Policeman floating in my re-generation tank? He saved my life, yet I could not save his, and I am unable now to repay the debt I owe him, unless I manage to find some way to raise his corpse from the grave. I should be dead now, instead he is, and I sit here with paltry wounds that mock me with every throb to remind me of my deficiencies."

"You were not at fault…"

"I am the best there is! If I cannot even take care of myself, what good am I? What good am I to the Chozo, what good am I to the Federation or its citizens, and what good am I to myself?"

Silence came again but this time it was Samus who broke it first.

"It appears you failed in convincing me by yourself as well," she taunted. "Why not leave and follow the others in their failure?"

"This discussion is _not_ over," the Chozo warned as he began to walk away.

Her laughter followed him out of her dome and into the adjacent corridor.

"Hee hee hee hee – oh, what a good substitute father you have always made!" she cackled before the doors closed after him.

* * *

Left alone again finally, for once Samus found herself unable to appreciate the quality of Chozo craftsmanship. Her suit still held power poorly, so the servomotors were no longer amplifying her movements meaning she had to shift the full weight of the suit each time she moved to do anything. But at least she was in a semi-comfortable position. She praised all that was holy for the painkillers still flowing through her veins and blocking out her back and still-healing arm. She had shot up just before leaving her ship but they would probably run out within the day. Stuck where she was, she had nothing else to do but think and mull over the previous conversation, so she did just that.

The Chozo were right, in their way. If indeed the Chiro were coming, they were going to destroy everything and everyone they possibly could, hundreds of billions. Compared to that, it was petty to hold a grudge against the Pirates for a few hundred colonists, including her parents. Logic told her that but it wasn't right at all. It wasn't so much what the Space Pirates had done or could do, it was what they represented. For almost all of her life, the pirates had been her ultimate standard of evil. Sometimes, she could still hear her mother's screams in the silence… Though the Chiro seemed to have a much larger capacity to _do_ more evil, it didn't necessarily mean they _were_ more evil. The pirates served no valuable purpose, yet in the here and now they were devils she knew. Devils, devils everywhere…

She laughed aloud. "Samus Aran" was a devil, and a raging one. That the Chozo would even consider coming to her showed the depths of their desperation. But what could she do? She had refused them and that was answer they would never accept, not from her. They had never accepted "no" as an answer from her. Her refusal had stalled them and put her in a slightly better bargaining position, but little else. Weighing the lives of so many was not something any mortal creature should do, yet the Chozo seemed to think that their sole reason for existence was to make such decisions. One would have though the destruction of their planet and the near extinction of their species would have corrected such thinking and knocked them down a peg or two but that was the Chozo for you, wasn't it?

Her hand would be forced into their service, one way or another. It would be best to agree now and get as much out of it as possible. The cause was worthy, but the means were still unacceptable. She would be making pacts with devils but she would know what she was doing and accept what it might cost her. The Space Pirates _would_ betray them, somewhere, somehow. If indeed she cast her lot with the pirates she would need to know when that treachery would be coming and be prepared for it. She would need to watch them closely but she would not be allowed to do that as long as they knew she hated them. She would have to make it seem as if working with them was a large and unpleasant concession, but needed. All true, _and yet_ not killing every pirate that crossed her path would still be quite difficult. Habits were always tough to break. Subtlety had never been a virtue she possessed, but perhaps she could rise to the occasion now.

She heard someone or something approaching her but was too tired at the moment to move. She could tell by the footsteps that it wasn't a Chozo, but what it was exactly, she didn't know. Due to the shape of the dome and the echoes, she found it difficult to tell the location of the intruder by just the noise.

"Hunter, you say it is the Pirates who will betray you, but in truth it is the Chozo," came a voice from behind her.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"I am a but a mere messenger of the Sag'hîr Pirate Clan. My Mother Brain wishes to inform you that the Chozo do _indeed_ have the technology to bring the dead back to life."

"How do you know this?"

"If we're not entirely trusted, neither do we trust entirely. We have kept some eyes and ears on the Chozo as well. Though you are obviously not so fond of us, we would not be opposed to bringing this 'Roger Lee' back to you."

"It is not a matter of bringing him back to _me_. I hate being indebted to anyone, and this will clear me of that debt. I live my life owing no one anything."

"As you say, Hunter. But the fact remains that the Chozo are lying to you, or if we may be more generous, at the very least _omitting_ important truths. They actually have the 'ability to make the impossible, possible' as you put it. There were many opportune times at which they could have informed of this fact, yet they chose not to."

"What are you intending to say, Pirate?"

"Nothing, nothing. The facts speak for themselves. But maybe we were jumping to conclusions when we decided that they were _deliberately_ deceiving you. Perhaps they are waiting to tell of you this later for a better bargaining position. When they come back in, just see for yourself and I'm sure you will see who you can really trust."

She heard the footsteps begin to walk away and get increasingly faint until she knew she was alone once again.

"Goddamn it all."

* * *

A great deal of time passed before the Chozo re-entered the room, or it felt so when she woke again from sleep. The drugs in her system had already begun to wear out, and the sensations in her back and arm came at her hard and fast as if some incorporeal sadist were driving needles into her from the inside out. Painkillers: another thing to add to the list of her terms.

Old Bird was among the first row of the group, but made no move to speak, and it was another near him, gaunt and grey, who engaged in the negotiation.

"Have you re-considered, Samus?"

"At the present terms, of course not. I have been twice outclassed by otherwise-nondescript Chiro warriors, and am badly mangled now. Thus, I wish for my current suit to be repaired and all improvements that _can_ be made to it _be_ made presently."

"That is fine."

"Next, when all of these matters are concluded, I wish to be given territory of my own choice which I will have total dominion over. You will find such a place for me, and then make oath to meddle not in my affairs afterward."

"We cannot guarantee you that in full," the Chozo spokesman said, "however we do swear on our honor that we will do everything in our power to make it so. Is there anything else?"

"_Yes_. I must to be in full control — _generalissimo_ — of any joint military endeavor that is formed and be notified of any and all decisions regarding more than one Space Pirate clan or involving the Federation in any way." She saw the shift in their postures. "If I am as crucial as you say I am, I wish to be treated as such."

"That we will not do—"

"If you do not, then I depart myself from this farce. My demands are not unreasonable, and your previous entreaty with all its dripping flattery was truer than you meant. Without me, you will die or need flee once again, and this time your dark brothers may catch up to you. So in addition to the previous terms, I need painkillers as quickly as possible. And for my final term, I wish for you to take the Space Policeman from my ship and-"

"No! That is abominable," a nondescript black Chozo cut in, surprising her. "We will not bring anyone back to life."

"_Will_ not?" she asked as an eyebrow under her helmet slowly rose. "I was merely wishing for a burial with full rites, however your choice of words betrays you. If indeed you have the ability to re-animate the dead, why did you not tell me of this before?"

"We do not speak of that which is anathema," Old Bird finally said, quietly.

"I see. For all of this talk about saving lives, you refuse to do it yourself."

"We will neither confirm nor deny whether we have to ability to breathe life back into the dead, for it does not matter," the gray Chozo cut in, taking control of the conversation again. "There is an order to the nature of the universe and upsetting that nature can only lead to misery. It was your comrade's fate to die when he did. Undoing that will cause only harm. I know you humans are often ruled by your hormones—"

"This is _not_ a matter of sex or love. It is a matter of honor."

"There is no denying the inherent weaknesses of your species. We have studied humans for quite some time. The other terms we accept," he continued, "but _not_ the last. If you still require more time to think, then we shall grant you it."

They turned, and as they left, and she strained to move her suit again. Samus managed to stand and point her cannon at them, but none turned to acknowledge her, and the charging blast died in her cannon and she sank down in waves of agony, ripping her helmet off as she cursed in multiple languages into the open air.

* * *

Samus sat in the dark, staring from the floor at the top of the dome and the few stars that appeared overhead. Her helmet still lay nearby on the ground.

Such was the way of the Chozo. Egotist and cowardice. They still thought they had special rules that applied to them and no one else. Thought that they had the authority to decide who lived and who died, who was worth dying for and who should be forgotten, who should be the enemy and who should befriend whom.

And they had chosen the Space Pirates, all 30 clans, even the three without leaders. The Myrnai were almost all dead by now, and the Kihunters had much the same fate ahead of them, as did the Vortrini. Samus almost smiled at the thought of that. At one time her goal in life had been to kill every Space Pirate in the galaxy. Of course she had also thought that only a few hundred million existed. A high goal but one she had almost reached with the destruction of Zebes. Mopping up of the other outposts was all that she thought she had left. Now to find out there were likely hundreds of billions… Heh, well she'd have to get started soon if she wanted to get them all.

She heard something skitter near her and aimed her gun arm on it immediately. She activated the flashlight on the end of the barrel and the light revealed a short green creature with two large eyes that blinked and then swiveled back and forth on their stalks trying to find an area out of the light.

A Zeela. Harmless.

Samus fired and watched as its body burst apart and disappeared. A greasy stain on the floor smoked for a moment then stopped. This time she did smile.

"Now that wasn't very nice, was it Hunter?" came a voice from somewhere in the shadows.

"The only reason you are still alive," she said, "is because your footsteps were loud enough to wake the dead, making it painfully clear you are no warrior and no threat."

A Space Pirate stepped out of the shadows and bowed before her. It had a humanoid appearance different from the other Space Pirates she had come into contact with, but it was undeniably of the same vein as the others.

"It is true; I am but a mere messenger, Hunter."

"Yet not the same as before. Your walking patterns were not the same."

"True, I come on behalf of the Alqu'or. However we were aware of the Sag'hîr messenger who came to you before and we agree with him wholeheartedly."

"What do you want of me, pirate?"

"We couldn't help but overhear your… _difference of opinion_ with the Chozo about the deceased human male. The Chozo are thoughtless, irrational creatures at times. Their code of honor is baffling. At least with the Chiro you knew where they stood but with these—"

"That is more than enough, pirate. Say something of value and leave me alone lest my patience wane beyond its ability to restrain my trigger finger."

"We agree with you, Hunter," he said hurriedly, though attempting poorly to hide it. "Debts should be paid whenever possible and the Policeman is an accomplished fighter, anyway. It makes sense to bring him back into the world of the living. The Chozo may be too timid to act and do what's right but we are not. If you wish it, we could revive the human… as a favor to you, of course, Hunter."

Samus looked at the pirate, as if trying to judge his thoughts.

"What do you gain from this?"

"Why nothing other than a chance to better our relationship, Hunter. Between you and all Space Pirates, assuredly, but you and the Alqu'or, especially."

She stared at him and his yellow eyes blinked. She began charging up her blaster.

"You are neither so convincing nor so clever as you imagine."

"Perhaps, perhaps not…" he replied, calmer than she would have thought, "but I ask you, as long as our goals are the same, what does the motivation matter?"

"There is some treachery in this, of that I am sure. I merely do not know wherein it lies." She thought for a moment. "Will I ever called upon to return this favor?"

"Of course not. You're already saving our race."

"I am being _called on_ to save you; there is a difference. I know your kind, pirate. There is always a catch. What is the catch in this?"

"Only one: we have the right to do whatever is in our power to bring him back to life. As you know, he's been dead for some time. There may be complications that can only be corrected through gene therapy or cybernetic augmentation."

"You plan on making a monster is what you mean."

"We plan on doing what is _necessary_. A nice benefit would be improving the human but that isn't our goal. We have more than enough of our own Alqu'or warriors better suited and better able for 'turning into monsters.' "

"Fine. You have my blessing. Do what you must to bring Roger Lee back to life."

"As you wish, Hunter. As you wish."


	15. Sins and Duty

**REFORMATORY UNIT EX-95,265,154**  
**THREE WEEKS LATER**

"Here you go," he said as he handed the Human guard to his electronic identification and papers through a metal slit under the reinforced glass of the front office post. The Mehrite pardoner smiled weakly, revealing his sharp white canines. His pupils shrunk the mere pinpricks in the presence of such bright light but he didn't appear to be uncomfortable. The man checking the items looked up briefly and didn't return the smile. The Mehrite tapped his foot with impatience but his face retained its convivial expression. A minute went by. Then another. A bit of irritation slipped through the face's mask before it was buried under a mountain of civility once again.

"I'm sorry, sir, is there a problem?" the Mehrite asked politely. "Everything is in order, isn't it?"

The guard looked up as if having some internal debate. The electronic and spectral analysis of the visitor's credentials certainly checked out, as they had to have dozens of times already to even allow the Senate official to arrive on the otherwise vacant planet and its Human reformatory. He had no weapons and certainly looked harmless enough. But something in that smile…

"Alright, I guess you're good to go. I'll buzz Dr. Song to escort you back to his office. We received orders to check all strange Mehrites extra careful after that thing with Senator Rai-dal. And people don't often come out here when they can avoid it."

"Certainly," the Mehrite agreed with an awkward laugh, "but I have to make my recommendations to the Senate's subcommittee on judicial military affairs in person, and it's hard to get a good feel for someone just reading about them or watching videos."

"And no one told you you were wasting your time? The warden hasn't let a guest see any of her convicts in the eight years she's been here."

"Of course," the Mehrite said, "and she didn't make any promises, but I feel I can make a good case, especially if I have Dr. Song on my side."

The guard snorted but said nothing, and they kept to themselves until the gigantic door to entrance to the prison proper beeped in warning and slowly swung open. A tall, slender Human with curly, close-cropped blonde hair stepped through and came over to offer his hand.

"Pardoner Chause Frey," the man said as their palms made contact. "How was your trip?"

"Long and not especially pleasant, but I've no doubt soon worth it," he answered. "It's nice to meet the illustrious Dr. Atticus Song at last. This is the finest prison psychologist in the Federation, didn't you know?" The Mehrite said, pointing at the doctor with his free hand. The guard ignored them, and they began to walk back to Song's office.

"Is there are sterile place we could talk about the candidates for pardon?" the Mehrite asked as they rounded a corner. "I hope you won't turn your professional eye too intently on me if I say that I get distracted by _germs_, and as clean as I know these halls look, I just know they aren't really."

"My office should be fine. I cleaned it just yesterday, and again this morning in light of your visit. I also had a hand sanitizer delivered and it was cleared by security for you."

"Oh, delightful, delightful."

They chatted about nothing in particular for a while until they reached Song's office and both went inside. The Mehrite sat down across from him in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the Human's desk. Homen Tau reclined and found the chair to feel quite pleasant. The Human shut the door behind them and sat down behind the desk.

"You know, it's actually good to see you," Song said. "It's been quite a while."

"Not nearly long enough, Atticus," Homen said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you have the albums we talked about over the Lattice?"

"There's no need to speak in cryptic terms here. We're totally unmonitored; I get special privileges within this office, even if they often cut both ways. But to answer your question, yes, I privately recorded the sessions of some of the inmates."

"And?"

"I've got a few I could show you, though I could only manage to smuggle primitive audio recorders through the security," apologized Atticus. "They're very serious about that kind of stuff here."

"Yes, I noticed. Go ahead and just give me what you got."

Song selected a physical file with papers, pictures, and notes and handed it to the Mehrite. Song instructed him to turn to the first page where Homen saw the picture of a Human with a dark, unkempt beard and shaggy hair staring back at him. He studied the picture more closely. The man's eyes seemed almost totally hidden under his brow but there was something haunting about them. Homen looked at the crime and sentence.

_Murder of an officer_. _Life_.

Hmm.

Atticus pulled out small circular device, flat, and about as large as a fingernail. He tapped it and sat it on the desk.

"This is inmate CLE-325," the Human began, "He was a former pilot in the Cosmic Navy for 13 years, running evacuation/retrieval missions. A spotless record early in his career but he began to deteriorate emotionally toward the end and about five years ago he killed a Federation officer on a Federation ship in cold blood. He avoided execution but was sentenced to life three years ago, and he's been here since. He originally tested quite well for intelligence and reflexes, and for whatever it's worth, until he killed that officer he was completely clean. "

"Sounds exactly like what I'm looking for. Smart, capable, an axe to grind against the Federation. And Human."

"That's why I included him, but you should hear this before coming to any conclusion."

They both became quiet and the device began to play. As he had warned, there was only audio, but it came out clearly enough.

"What did you dream about last night, Charles?"

"In my dream I'm-I'm piloting my ship again. I've, uh, I've just received orders to go… _retrieve_ what's left of a corps of Mechanized Infantrymen. I look out the front window of my ship and I see… uh… I see the planet I'm supposed to go to. Even from space, the thing looks like… the thing looks like it's _burning_. I- I know something's not right but I ignore it and go to land anyway. I've got a job to do. People are _counting_ on me. I always go in in the worst situations and get out as many people as I can. It's what I'm paid to do. The situation's always bad, every time. This is no different, I tell myself. This is just another mission. So I go through the atmosphere and eventually land in what's left of a forest, the fire in this section has long since moved on and only a few smoldering embers glow now. Off to every horizon, smoke … smoke _surrounds_ me. I, uh, check my ECs — exterior cameras — and I don't see anyone. For a second I wonder if I'm in the wrong spot but I-I check my coordinates and I'm where I'm supposed to be, I know I am.

"Suddenly I hear this… uh, this _roar_ that seems to comes from something terrible, something powerful. It's not the roar of the flames or of anything I can clearly recognize or identify, even now when I'm awake. I feel my ship shake and- and in my seat I do to, whether from the force or from fear, I don't really know. I check my ECs again to see if I can see what it was that made that sound but all I see is smoke, an-an endless barrier of smoke. Then something starts to come out of it. A flood of-of powered suits just coming straight at my ship- some running smoothly but most just limping or barely crawling along. They look like they're in such horrible shape; I'm surprised some of them can move at all. A few have some suitless bodies slung over a soldier or held under the crook of an arm but that's all they are is bodies. The smoke or temperature did them in a long, long time ago. As they get close, enough I open the large doors in the back so they can get in. As soon as the door cracks open I can feel the…the _heat_, the sweltering heat just pour in, even to the pilot compartment. I can smell sulfur and ash and… and I don't know what else. A few moments later they begin piling in and they scream at me to 'Go, go! In the name of God just get the fuck out of here! I-I check my EC again and I see why. The flood of Infantrymen is still coming but behind them is a… a writhing mass of …darkness that stretches out to the horizon. I can't make out individual beings at all, just a wall of black. I mean, I know that there must be separate entities within that, but I just… I just see limbs, claws, teeth, and hair. I just see pure evil. It moves in waves, and the creatures that make up the wall are falling over one another in their eagerness. I can feel this blood lust that seems to radiate from them. The Infantrymen at the back begin to go down. No one stops to help them or pull them up, everyone that can just keeps running. None of them even try to help… The one's that get caught just go under the Darkness, occasionally they'll be seen rising to the top as they get ripped out of their suits or as what's left of a body part gets tossed through the air. None of the things stop, they just move forward butchering everything in their way with a single-minded purpose and desire. They move so fast…

"I check my weight limit and I know I can still fit more in but- but I start the process to take off anyway. My hands are shaking but I manage to work the controls anyway. My EC shows the Darkness one hundred meters away and closing fast but I resist the urge to leave just yet. I tell myself I can fit a few men more on. I tell my courage that I just need a few seconds more. I don't understand how so many creatures could move that fast at once… It's impossible… I hold my ship hovering a little off the ground and take in a few more — just a few more — Infantrymen as they dive into the ship. The Darkness gets within 30 meters and I pull up a little more, low enough for a powered suit, or _anything_ agile, to get to. The Darkness gets within ten meters and I can see their mouths open wide and I can see the bits of flesh still hanging onto their teeth and the blood on their claws. I see their eyes for the first time and they're totally devoid of emotion or-or anything at all. I hit the thrusters under my ship and I climb into the air quickly. My EC's capture the expressions on the faces of the Infantrymen still on the ground and I can't take my eyes off my monitors as they too are overtaken by the darkness and torn to pieces. Somehow, I hear their screams of agony above the din of the ship and it's in my ears and it won't go away. The ship heats up and gets tossed back and forth as we climb through the… through the atmosphere. A few Infantrymen have managed to hang on to the side door of the ship and as we begin to head out of the atmosphere, I'm forced to close it. They fall, screaming, weeping, back down to the surface.

"I turn the monitors off and set a course for the Gamma-ship to dock. I close my eyes and I try to whisper a plea to God but I fail... I don't know what I could possibly have to say. I bury my face in my hands and begin to cry. The dream ends."

"That seems quite vivid for a dream, Charles. Most people have difficulty recalling even basic facts when they wake from a dream. Is it possible some of the details are from a memory, or even from a work of fiction you recall?"

"Yeah, well most of us don't have the same goddamn dream every night for five years either."

Song stopped the audio and said nothing. Homen Tau sat there lazily stroking his chin for moment before he spoke.

"So, was that really a dream of his, or a memory?"

"He doesn't know," Atticus replied. "He said he doesn't remember anything _exactly_ like that, even though he was forced to leave people on the ground regularly. He's confused about whether it's a memory, a composite of different memories, or even a vision of the future. It's my professional opinion that it's his past guilt coming back on him in the form of a dream. As I said, what his 'dream' is and whether it's real or not doesn't really matter, subjectively. It _feels_ real to Charles so it _is_ real."

"And you think because of this he won't work for us?" Homen said, pointedly.

"Listen to a little more from another session."

He tapped the device again and it was the inmate's voice that came out.

"I always leave someone on the ground when I go on an evac… always. It's just how things are, just how things have to be. If everyone could make it out okay, they would call someone else because that's someone else's job. Whoever needs me is in serious trouble, or I wouldn't be called to pick them up. I get there a second or two late and everyone is dead. I stay one… _instant_ longer than I should, and everyone dies. There's a balance you need to be able to judge to save as many people as possible. I know – up here in my head- that I always wait until the last second before I leave but in here – in my heart- I'm… not so sure. I ask those 'what ifs' constantly. What if… what if I had slowed down and let one more guy on? What if I had I had spent that heart beat leaving the doors open instead of lifting off? What if in that crucial moment I could have picked him up and his family could have had their dad back alive instead of a note saying they couldn't even retrieve the body? Would he… tell his family of that pilot that saved his life or does his wife curse me every night for not doing it? What if I was better at doing my job? What if they had sent someone else? What if, what if, what if… Men aren't meant to make decisions like that on a daily basis, decide who lives and who dies. We break down. We just can't take that kind of pressure. We just can't… -snff hrrruh-"

Homen's face suddenly gained a look of confusion.

"Wait," he ordered the Human, "stop it for a moment."

Song did so and looked back to the Mehrite.

"Did he start crying there?" Homen asked.

"Yes. He caught himself, but we had to break for a little while before he would go on."

The audio began again.

"My superior officer told me that I wasn't 'meeting quota.' He said I was leaving too many behind on a regular basis. Looking back now, maybe he was right. Maybe I'd lost the ability to judge what was safe and what wasn't. Maybe I had already gone over the edge. But back then, he was trying to tell me what was going on down in the real world, telling me he knew more about war through statistics then I did right in the damn middle of it. He… It doesn't matter. For whatever reason I lost it. I blacked out and the next thing I remember I was standing over his body, looking and what was left of the head I'd bashed into the floor. Blood was all over me, all over everything. I didn't even try to get away. All those 'what ifs' had just been answered. I'd never directly killed anyone before, just indirectly. But that was enough. I sat down a few feet away from the body and just waited for whoever would show up to show up. I pleaded guilty at my trial and was sentence to be 'reformed' for the rest of my life."

The audio stopped.

"So you're saying he's not fit to become a pilot again?" Homen asked.

"Listen to his verb tenses from earlier. They're all present progressive. Not 'who need-_ed_ me' but 'who need-_s_ me.' Not 'when I pilot-_ed'_ but 'when I pilot.' He never _stopped_ being a pilot. Emotionally he hasn't dealt with his problems which means at any moment he could lose it. He's not stable."

"That's my choice to make, and right now I'm quite the beggar. Of course if I had known that all you do is sit around asking simple questions, not even responding or doing actual therapy for a living, I would have taken a job like this a long time ago."

Song made no response but just tapped the device and they began listening to the next man.

"This is inmate BNE-852," Song explained as he handed over another file and talked over the first part of his previous conversation, "he was convicted of murder of a civilian. Keep in mind that his story is far different from what the official investigation discovered."

Homen glanced down at the picture and saw a dark-skinned young man, hair cut short, body healthy but lean. Other than the sardonic expression on his face, he seemed to be the perfect little toy soldier the Federation was always in need for. As the Human stopped talking, the inmate's voice came through clearly again and Homen was quick to pay attention.

"I served in the Mechanized Infantry's peacekeeping corps up in the North Quadrant fer a few years before I came here. Tough work, low pay, but what are ya' gonna do, right? I figured it'd give me the opportunity to serve my government and travel the stars… Yeah, did a _whole_ lot of traveling patrollin' up and down the streets of Kåitrex City. It's tough to imagine a worse place to be assigned. It's filthy place and those stinkin' trolls are everywhere. Literally. I mean they smell _horrible_; I'd be surprised if they showered more 'n once a month. The whole planet is this hot, sweltering desert and I swear, not a day went by that someone didn't try and kill us. We'd go to remove mines from school playgrounds and there'd be a sniper posted on a roof a block away. Thank God trolls can't shoot worth a damn. Didn't even take their guns off full auto when I first got there. 'Course they learned faster'n I'd of liked. But anyway, they got lucky from time to time as everyone does and I ended up buryin' more buddies than I would've cared to, not that anyone actually _enjoys_ buryin' their friends. Most peacekeepers can't wear suits because they're so un-wieldy and you'd have to take them off all the time when goin' in and out of buildings or just walking on the side of the streets. Some streets're barely 5 or 10 meters across, even in downtown. Leaves you feelin' naked after trainin' in a suit of armor for so long but there's nothin' you could do 'bout it. And it didn't what you were doin', the Dåi-ori, they'd just look at you and you could see it in their eyes they wanted ya dead. Men, women, children… it didn't matter, they just hated us. I don't mean they _all_ hated us, but it doesn't take too many to make life unpleasant for everyone.

"Anyway, one day we got this call that somebody had done an attack on a barracks of ours. Luckily, nobody was even injured. Barracks are reasonably well-protected and attacks are pretty harmless when they use small arms fire like that but you still gotta' track down who done it. Who knows? They may come back with somethin' bigger next time, and you need to set examples in any case. Kåitrex City is pretty big, maybe five million people — six if you take the suburbs into account. So we had enough resources there to find who we needed to. A day later, I got called in as part of the team taking down those little sh-s. Normal enough. Just part of the service.

"I hopped in one of the transports and we headed out to a small village outside the city. Nothin' better than shacks, really. The ones who attacked the barracks were supposedly in this small outhouse-looking thing. Info at the time says that it was a two-man job but they may have been part of something bigger, so we take precautions. That shack could be the entrance to an underground weapons cache a couple kilometers long. I've seen stranger. So we were locked and loaded and when we got there. We piled out, surrounded it and made sure to cover every direction around the shack in case someone else tried to sneak up on us. My job was to be one of the guys who stays outside while the others go in to investigate. I heard the door open and slam against the outside; I heard a couple of shouts then one, maybe two seconds of gunfire before it stopped. Most open gunfights really don't last that long. Automatic rifles don't have that kind of patience.

"While I waited for the guys to come back out, this old Dåi-ori woman, she looked a couple hundert' years old but she was probly only 80 or so, came out with somethin' in her hand. At that point, I couldn't tell what it was. I shouted 'Stay back!' in Federation Standard and Dåi-ori both because you just don't want civilians getting' involved in these kinds of situations, no matter what their loyalties. After all, if a crowd forms and something goes wrong, all of a sudden 50 people who never should have even been there are dead. So I shouted that a few more times telling her to stop where she was and drop what she was holdin'. Nothing. At that point, she was probably about as far from me as I am from that wall there. Just then I could see that she was holding an M3 class grenade and in case you don't know, the Infantry doesn't carry anything above an M2 because it's so difficult to get out of the blast range once you pull the clip and it'll more Infantrymen than enemies. To put it mild-like, I was worried. I turned on the translator and set it to Dåi-ori and I said, 'Keep your distance and let go of the grenade or I will fire.' She didn't even slow down. I gave her one more warning and brought my rifle up to eye level, lettin' her know that if she didn't comply I'd shoot.

"During that time, she'd gotten about as close to me as you are to _that_ wall when she drew back her arm like she was gonna' throw it. I didn't have any choice. We don't do warnin' shots in the Infantry, can't afford to. So I pulled the trigger and blew a hole about the size of an orange right here in the cheek. She dropped the grenade when she dropped to the ground but it didn't go off. Did I get her before she pulled the clip? I don't know. Was she just trying to turn in a weapon she'd found? I don't know. I _do_ know that put back in that situation I'd do the exact same thing I did then. I did the right thing in that situation but I don't think I'll ever know that I actually _did the right thing_, if you know what I'm sayin'. I have nightmares sometimes; I get the shakes. It wasn't like pullin' that trigger was somethin' I _wanted_ to do or I _wanna_ do again. No one really _wants_ to kill old women, but it was something I _had_ to do.

"But the military didn't see it that way. Officially, I had had an itchy trigger finger and killed an innocent woman in cold blood. The grenade didn't even make it into the report. 'Innocent woman killed in military operation' read the news line. The entire city was on the verge of full-scale, armed rebellion after they heard about it, so I was promptly tried, convicted, and given a death sentence, all on the planet, of course. Once I was shipped off-planet, my punishment was bumped down to life and here I am. So much for loyalty and service, eh?"

Again the man stopped the audio and again Homen sat stroking his chin. Homen's eyes narrowed at some private thought but he just smiled and turned his gaze on Song.

"And what's your professional opinion of this one?"

The Human looked the Mehrite over with a sense of wariness and answered cautiously.

"He seems fit to me. Psychologically, stress is his only disorder and it's well within the boundaries of normalcy, even without compensating for his military background. He has coped well but he still despises the Federation and has none of his former loyalty to them… but of course it's your choice," Song added quickly.

"You always did learn quickly," Homen said with a chuckle. "OK, what about this next one."

Again the audio began to play but this time the Mehrite received no file. Atticus explained that the man was new to the reformatory because he had been transferred from another one and not everything had followed him here yet.

"I've never really enjoyed taking orders from anyone. I think most people, myself included, are idiots and things usually end up as the blind leading the blind. But whatever, man. When you look at anything besides what's right in front of you, that's when it all goes awry. Put one foot in front of another and you can't go wrong. I joined in the Mechanized Infantry as soon as I was legally able and started getting checks from the Federation military. There was some nasty business with my home I wanted to get away from. Juvie record. You know how it is. Anyway, basic training did what it was supposed to but there was no way it could have prepared me for the West Quadrant. The technology on some planets is two or three hundred years behind the modern standards. The colonies are so out of touch with reality it's almost sad. Some colonists haven't even seen a powered suit their entire lives while others don't even acknowledge the authority of the Galactic Federation. There's very little mixing among races and when they do come in contact it's polarized as hell. Tension's everywhere. Asshole of the universe and all that. Throw Space Pirates into the mix and you've got something close to hell. Throw me into the mix, and you do have hell."

"Why would you say that, Syd?"

"We're getting to that, aren't we? So, I remember my first mission. Whoo hoo was that fun. What was the name of that colony? Hmm. Well, whatever the hell the thing was called it was a piece of shit. Hot and humid, all day, everyday. The three moons make it pretty bright, too. 'Course, it turns so slow they'll be a Federation day and a half of darkness, and two days of light. Where I was there wasn't a big problem with Pirates, there wasn't really anything on it to want to steal. But damn it if the colonists didn't cause problems. There was this one farming village that _really_ didn't like us being there. I took so much crap from the back then without doing anything, I look back and laugh now. But one day I was out of my suit, just on some armed-break time outside the barracks, and this Jahziel colonist — it was a Jahziel colony — came up to me and started bitching about…his wife maybe. Well, one thing or another. I've forgotten by now. Anyway, he wasn't even speaking in Standard, so I just tuned him out and caught up on the latest news on the Lattice. From out of nowhere, he pulled this pistol on me, puts it maybe a centi away from my face, and started saying something to me real slow. I put my hands up and just smiled. I looked at the gun and he hadn't even taken it off safety. So I just reached up and snapped his thin little wrist with one hand and smacked him across the face with the other. I'd swear he flew across the dammed room. Federation hand-to-hand combat training works, apparently. My rifle was sitting next to me and I picked it up and pointed it at him.

" 'You were gonna' shoot me, weren't you, cock sucker? Weren't you!?'

"Sumbitch nodded all scared, and shaking. He might've pissed himself, I don't know. He was just sitting on the ground so I walked over to him and hit him in the nose with the butt of my rifle. Broke something, I think. He started to fall over and pass out but I kicked him in the balls, well Jahziel don't exactly have balls but you know what I mean. The point being, it woke him up enough to get him lucid. 'Open your mouth, cock sucker,' I told him. He understood well enough and he did. I stuck the barrel of the rifle in his mouth and told him to bite down. He did, teeth all chattering and shit. Then, I blew his brains out the back of his head.

"Now, the whole point of this story is not that I killed a citizen in cold blood, even though that's a damn fine point to make if it was. The point of the story is that when my superior officers found out about that, you know what happened to me? Not a thing, not dammed thing. They dumped the body, falsified a report, and didn't even reprimand me. Why not? I was a good soldier, I'd been doing a good job. Why ruin it on a thing like that? Just self-defense anyway, right? Hell of an eye-opener, let me tell you.

"I got transferred to actual combat duty short after, and over the next few years there were a multitude of 'unexplained' deaths wherever my platoon went. But I always killed my share of Space Pirates and didn't cause any _real_ trouble. Jesus, I killed men, women, children, stray animals and everything in between. I killed hookers, nuns, orphans, total strangers. Everybody. I killed anyone I wanted any time I wanted to. How's that for an ego trip? By that time the Federation higher-ups had gotten wind of the totality of my actions and it was getting harder and harder to keep it under wraps. But God knows they couldn't just try me for murder, not without bringing all of the times they'd let me get away with it into the light. Nah, I had them by the balls and they knew it. I think they sent an assassin after me once but then again it could have just been some random mugger. Paranoia huh? Be sure to write that down.

"And for seven years of my life, that's what I did. On assignment I got Space Pirates, off I got everyone else. I ate, drank, and slept murder. Then it all got fucked it all up. I filed for my two weeks leave, same I did every year. Three days later, I was in cuffs on my way to a prison. You see, apparently I 'didn't turn in the proper forms' making me AWOL at the time I was away from my squad. Under the law, that's automatically life in prison. It's usually not enforced, of course, but sumbitch there's no trial for it, either. They were smart and got me on a technicality. It might have been totally made it up, for all I know. So you see, I deserve to be in here, just not for what I'm actually in here for."

The tape ended and Homen Tau just sat in reflection for a moment. Lines of concentration briefly crisscrossed his forehead but they disappeared almost instantly.

"This guy…" Homen began, "this guy is perfect."

"He is a sociopath in the truest sense of the word," Atticus spoke, almost ignoring Homen's comments. "His brain scans show him to be completely unable to reform because he is in control of his actions at all times. He has shown an intellectual understanding for the difference of good and evil but he chooses to ignore it. He is a killer and that's all he's good at."

"He is rare, even in a universe as large as this one. That makes him valuable."

"Spontaneous combustion is rare too, Homen."

"As long as he doesn't blow up on us, we're fine. He's just an explosion waiting to happen, all of the time. We just need to channel that force and point that explosion at something worthy of being destroyed. He's a killer and as long as we give him something to kill, everything will be fine. OK, let's go one to the next guy."

"This is inmate…"

* * *

**MANY HOURS LATER **

The Mehrite sat slumped in his chair with a cup of coffee half empty. And yes it was indeed half empty, not half full because it used to be full but now half of it was gone so it was half empty. Pessimism was logical, see? It was getting late but they were almost through the selection process. He had 10 of the 11 men chosen for the job, now all he needed was one more.

There was almost no discussion between the assassin and the psychiatrist any more. It was just listening, thinking, and a thumbs up or a thumbs down.

"I think we'd all like to believe that war is something noble and good, the good versus the evil, but it's not always that way," the inmate on the tape was saying. "In fact, it's almost never that way. I know that when Humans first discovered that there were species other than our own, it gave us a chance to see things in a new light even thought that so-called 'new-light' was the same we'd been using for thousands of years before. Us and them. _We_ were good and we couldn't understand _them_ so they were obviously bad and we were obviously good. Did I say that twice? Ha ha, maybe I'm just trying to convince myself of something I know isn't true. Anyway, once we conquered all of the territory that we did we came to understand quite a few of the 'them' so they could no longer be 'bad.' Sure, we may not have loved every species but we knew more about them and saw that they weren't really that different from us. Thankfully, before we ever had to deal with this new understanding, we got ourselves a gift in the Space Pirates. So now once again _we_ are good _they_ are evil."

"And you don't believe that?"

"No, I do, at least the last part. Space Pirates are brutal killers and anyone who has had contact with them will agree. But what about their own perspective? When else do they see the Federation than in combat? _Maybe_ when they raid a merchant vessel but those merchant ships are armed to the teeth these days and we've gotten into the habit of destroying any Space Pirate ship we see on sight. What if that ship was a nursery? How would they see us?"

"You make a good point, David, but did you want to spend your day today philosophizing, or is there something else you'd like to share?"

"Heroes die just as easily as cowards when they get caught in a megaton explosion. There's no such thing as an honorable death, in my mind. One can die for an honorable cause but once you're lying there, your tongue hanging out of your mouth, your pants fouled and your body bloated, it doesn't matter why you died. You're still dead. There's nothing honorable about a corpse. I've sat in a trench and watched starships crash into the atmosphere, burning up like falling stars and taking the thousands of lives of the men inside with them. I've charged a line of Space Pirates and watched the man next to me get blown into pieces while I make it to the enemy unscathed. What does it all mean? Why am I lucky enough to survive or why is everyone else that died lucky enough to die? I-I was in the middle of my squad when a bomb from who knows where dropped right into the middle of us. Thanks to my suit, I survived but it was thrashed. When I saw the Space Pirates coming, I got out and ran. I left other people behind. None of them made it. What does that mean for me? The person who picked me up died the very next day on a suicide mission whose sole purpose was to free up another brigade on the flanks. What does that mean for him? Maybe it doesn't mean anything.

"Maybe I'm a coward and maybe I'm not but I just wasn't cut out for infantry life. I refused an order to go back to the front. I was sent here for it. But I find myself thinking, 'who was lucky, those who died because they don't have any problems any more or those who lived on to die another day?' I've heard others say that we all leave something behind on the battlefield. That's not true in the literal sense except for those who came back something less than a man. Shell-shocked, crippled, so diseased that most of their body doesn't work. A lost generation not only of dead, but of the unemployable as well. And for what? To save some colonists? The Federation couldn't care less. All they want to protect some shipping lanes. No, whatever cause we may tell ourselves we're fighting for it's still all about greed."

"Stop the tape there," Homen commanded wearily. Song waited briefly for a sign but received none.

"Would you _mind_ telling me what the verdict on this one is?" the Human grumbled as politely as possible.

"He's not what I'm looking for in this particular instance, but I feel that I could have use for him later. Arrange things for this one as well."

"What about your last man? I only have the resources for eleven inmates and myself."

"Then take the eleven I've approved, and I'll be my own last man. I'd better hope I don't killed; it would ruin everything. Ha ha ha," he laughed aloud at the joke the psychiatrist didn't get and probably assumed was rooted in some deep, dark, corner of the Mehrite's brain. Ruin everything. It was true enough, even if it wouldn't really matter to him what happened after his death. If the Federation found his body in one of their suits, everything would unravel. Still, one of the others would have to be left behind to corroborate the victim's stories, just so long as it wasn't him. The victim's would need solid proof that Humans were involved. If all the Humans survived the engagement, as they very likely might, he'd make a decision when the time came.

As he got up and gave as hearty a good-bye as possible, Homen almost found himself feeling sorry for the ones who were going to die, not just the ones in the prison but the ones at the temple as well. The latter were his own people, if indeed he even could even have a people anymore. Elders, women, children. Even the very like-minded revolutionaries he had trained and armed would be forced to die. Some of them at least. His right hand didn't know he was using his left hand to stab it. All for the cause. He wouldn't be so different from that Human Syd when it was over. All for the cause.

As he passed the security guard, he wondered how the future would remember him for this when everything was said and done and the present had long since become antiquity. What he did know was that when the orbital cannons came smashing down on this prison, he wouldn't be sorry to see that damned guard go.


End file.
